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Poca-Shadow and the Trail of Cum
A Romantic Tragedy
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Part One: Desperation, Lust, and Yearning
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T’was a bright day. The sun was shining down on his thick, luscious fur. Zarkary sat on an old rocking chair on his front porch, watching the Black Man standing in his yard. The man’s height was below average, but much more than his. He stood there, confidently and edgily. He thought it was hot. Sexy, even. He wanted him more than anything.
Zark’s life was extremely boring. At four in the morning, he wakes up and brushes his teeth. He quickly changes into a hoodie and sweatpants, then makes his way downstairs to his desk. At exactly 4:37, he loads up the Riot Games Launcher and opens League of Legends. For the next 12 hours, he is completely consumed by being among the worst players in gaming history, as a Viargo main. At 5 in the afternoon, he used to leave his house to head to his strenuous job at Jark’s Warbarck Bargars. And he would return, promptly, at 8 pm. But that was long ago. He did nothing now but continue to play League of Legends late in the night, until 2 in the morning, when he finally gets ready for bed. Since it’s so late, he’s too tired to take a shower and decides he can take one the next day. It has been six years since his last shower. Like Lacy Fletcher, the fabric of his clothes had all but fused to his skin. His mother had tried to peel them off once when he was asleep. She wanted to clean him up and beg him to go back to school. But they wouldn’t come off. Zark hadn’t changed since then, and that was almost ten years ago. For four years, he had showered with his clothes on.
But he doubted The Black Mamba minded. The stench, it was . . . attractive, really. Zark could sense it on him, too. Every time the ebony fox ran past him- he shuddered. Every time he heard his deep, commanding voice, he felt compelled to follow him to wherever he may lead him. To his death, perhaps. To losing his purity . . . that would be . . . much more favorable. He often fantasized about it; different dreams, different times, but he dreamt about it all the same. Not just at night, either. Daydreaming plagued him as well, and that obsidian stallion was always what he wanted most. There was one thought that he routinely had: petting him; feeling his silky, yet sweaty, strands of hair between his fingers; plucking the moisture off and licking his fingers like he was a crack addict sucking up his last rock of cocaine.
He could taste it. It was salty and warm, but it felt sweet to him. Like no other liquid could hold that level of robust, passionate flavor. Like that liquid was his lifeblood, and the nectar of the gods. He sighed, it was a quick, remorseful sigh. Like in some other universe he was his lover, and like in some other universe, those many fantasies could be true. Every day . . . once a week, once a year- hell, he would take just one night with that dark, slippery, hedgehog with fur the color of raven feathers.
He was jolted back to the present- he had been sucking on his fingers like a fat kid with a SpongeBob pop. They were dripping wet, and he quickly wiped them on his already filthy blanket before getting up and looking at himself in the mirror. If you’ve ever seen Napoleon Dynamite, Zark looked pretty much like that . . . only slightly shorter, less attractive, and with brown hair instead. He also didn’t have glasses and was a half-breed Muslim, but that is not relevant to the story. Unless . . .
His schedule had been altered today. He managed to sleep in until 6:39, and his rabid OCD began kicking in as he realized he wouldn’t be able to complete his Genshin, League, and DragonVale dailies if he still wanted to fantasize about The Hog in the tub later. His heart started pounding like the beat of the drums in Okonkwo’s wrestling match, but he stifled it. He thought he may be able to 86 the Genshin dailies . . . that is, if it meant popping off onto that erizo negro.
He quickly rinsed his sticky hands and walked downstairs.
“Hello, dear,” his mother, Mrs. Harssarn, said to him over the sound of breakfast cooking, “how’d you sleep?” She asked him.
Zark looked down, as to not alert his mother of his fantasies, and lied, “good,” he said, slurping up the breakfast like Vincent from Over the Hedge after his hibernation, “nothing interest-” he choked on himself, as if his conscience was telling his mother that he was lying. He stifled it down, “nothing interesting. I- I didn’t have any dreams.” He realized afterward that it would have been less suspicious to not mention dreams at all.
“Well at least you slept,” she said, bags under her eyes, apparently not in the least bit suspicious, “I didn’t get a wink of sleep. I kept having these odd dreams about . . . Sonic characters,” Zark’s eyebrow raised, “I don’t even know how I know them. I must have seen you or your brother playing it at some point.”
Zark’s heart raced. He had thought himself to be the only one with these fantasies, but could it be that Shadow was powerful enough to radiate desire through him and onto others?
Zark shuddered at the prospect, but soldiered on regardless. Thinking of those furry arms caressing his body and using it as consolation. He got lost in that thought for a moment, and was only ripped from it when his mother grabbed him by the shoulder, “Zark,” she said, “I want you to know, that . . . I’m proud of you. I know going to college can be hard, but I know that you have the strength to do it.”
It was the first time his mother had ever expressed affection for him, and it was a foreign feeling, “Thanks, ma.” He said back before biting his tongue. He had been playing with his friend, Marthew, the other day, and he was worried the Italian juices had seeped into the pores of his face, plaguing his mind with that spaghetti language nonsense.
His mother thought she might press her luck: “So . . .” she said, pointing her fingers together like this: 👉👈, “do you think you might go to school today?”
Zark was in a bad place. It had happened years ago . . . he was well-respected by all of his peers and teachers, he was the valedictorian, and he had the love of his life by his side. But one fateful day, he had decided to join the school theater club, and when he first found out his wife, the lead, was to kiss another man, he . . . really wasn’t worried. He joked about it, sure . . . but never thought that anything would come of it.
Well, something did come of it. The man she kissed, a frarshman, no less . . . he stole her away from Zark and violated their sanctity, like Marsellus Wallace was violated at the end of Pulp Fiction. He hadn’t shown his face at school since that day, and his academics had suffered. He was no longer the valedictorian, if not completely thrown from the school’s records. Not only that, but he had accrued at least a couple hundred absence days, and all of his grades had become lower than his former friend, Sharn’s, testosterone levels. Speaking of his “friends,” they had all moved on. He was supposed to go to Penn State with his best friend, Jarsy, who was voted both the most smartest (240 IQ) and as having the biggestest dick in his entire grade level (verified by measurements), but Zark had abandoned that idea long ago, around the time when his love . . . abandoned him. Now he had been wearing that costume from his character, Barll Arstarn, since his chub had become a thin lizzy.
He didn’t respond to his mother. He just tucked his tail betwixt his legs and waddled upstairs to his computer.
His phone rang, and he debated briefly before picking it up, “Hello?” he said, voice cracking like he was a submissive school girl in an ugly bastard hentai.
“Hey, Zark, it’s me, Sard, calling from my college, LCCC,” Sard had planned to go to a more prestigious school, but affirmative action was recently banned by the 2032 election winner, Darnald Trarmp, and now nobody wanted him, “I was wondering . . .” he trailed off, “well, I was wondering if you’d come with me to alumni night.”
Zark didn’t have to think, he was an alumnus of the Shadow School of Bitches, after all, as his Reddit bio clearly stated, “No,” he said promptly, and hung up. He sighed, harshly, that was far too much social interaction. Honestly, after the call, he had thought about the prospect of alumni night. He had been alone for so long, like a mole digging through the ground, he felt his eyes would burn when he finally hit the sunlight. But in a strange way, it was alluring. Despite everything his love had done to him, he felt that he would like to see her again. And she would likely be there.
He didn’t know if she was still with the adulterer, Barn Smarth, but he thought the chance to be good. Apparently, the raw tonguing he gave her had pleasured her so immensely that she had never been able to experience happiness again. Apparently, that one primal pounding left her weak in the knees, but simultaneously left her unable to return her ruined body to her former lover, Zark. But even if she wasn’t with him anymore, he doubted his ability to look her in the eyes without a simultaneous failing of his tear ducts and heart. Tears would flow out of him like the flood banks of the Nile after a torrential rainstorm. And she would do nothing to help him, her mind only fixated on that man, Barn Smarth.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Zark slowly waddled his fat ass to the entryway. He opened the door. Slowly. Carefully. Frightfully, as he didn’t want to be reminded of his past social life. It was Jarsy, the simple farmer from down the street with the fattest cock in the world. His luscious lips and flowing blond hair radiated sexuality.
“Hello,” he started, beautiful blue eyes peering into Zark’s soul, “I uh . . . heard the news.”
Zark’s heart beat faster, “w-what news?” He asked, pee leaking from his flaccid peonis.
“Your brother,” he said, slowly, just learning that Zark hadn’t known, “he uh . . . God, this is hard- he died on duty.”
This was the first time Zark had heard. He had been glued to League for so long that he couldn’t even remember his brother’s name. It had been years since he saw him, and now that he realized he would never see him again, he became both sad and angry. Angry at himself, partially, for letting things get this bad, but mostly angry at Jarsy for having such a massive member. Had he had a peonis of that grandeur, of that raw stature . . . perhaps Arnyar, his (FORMER) love, would not have left him for that little Twinkie® freshman. That, coupled with the news of his brother’s death- he just realized, he hadn’t even had known where he was stationed . . . even what branch he was in- made him so incredibly melancholic, he didn’t think he’d be able to move from his piss-stained gamer seat for another five years at the minimum. A little toot leaked out from between his thighs. Jarsy smelt it and ran away, peonis dragging on the floor as he escaped. Zark wondered briefly: if he was a woman, would he hit that?
Yes, he thought, no doubt in his mind. Jarsy was hands-down the most attractive man ever spawned from the Earth.
And Zark played League to drown his sorrows, shit, piss, and sweat pouring from his body like the rains of the Zootopia rainforest district, for the next 12 hours. Until at about 7:00 pm, when he saw a dark shadow run across his window. He threw down his headphones immediately, and ran to the window to see what it was.
Nothing was there.
Part Two: Native Hedgehog Genital-side
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Shadow didn’t think much anymore. Life was a blank piece of paper; not one waiting to be written on, but one that would never feel the touch of graphite. He was sitting, now, on a park bench in the pouring rain, letting the water run through his rugged red head fur. He felt weak. He had just tried to finish his personal record for running around the world, but he had hit his foot off a gnarled root and broken his ankle, somewhere outside a residential house somewhere in the middle of Parnnsylvarniar.
Just my luck. He thought, leg muscles and feet bulging as he tore off his knee-high socks. He let his feet get washed by the rain, it had been several months, after all, since he had given them a wash. Their odor was comparable to a mix of rotting flesh and freshly spoiling durian, and he was sure that the surrounding neighborhood could all smell it. But he didn’t care. In fact, he didn’t find himself caring about much anymore. He had felt things . . . once. But that time all but died after he had given up on love. At one point, he had loved his male companion, Tristarn Barlar, but Tristarn had left him, and now his heart and mind were vacant not only from love, but from any possibility of love in the future.
He rubbed his tired, painful foot and looked up to the window of the house that he was next to. He would have to go up there and talk to them. He needed rest and he needed a warm meal. There was something else he was intensely desiring as well, but he doubted that he would find that here.
This land is not welcoming to my kind, he thought. And he was right. But he buckled up and put his shoes back on regardless, walking up to the door of the house with a loud groan.
He rang the doorbell, and a beautiful, kind-looking woman answered, “Hello?” she said, peering into the dark. She was hardly able to see Shadow’s onyx fur.
“Hello,” he said, his commanding voice resounding through the house, “my name is Sh-” he stopped himself, “. . . Seamus. I’m somewhat of a vagrant, and I was wondering if I could have a place to stay tonight. And a meal, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
Mrs. Harssarn would have said no in a situation like this, but she thought she recognized Shadow from her dreams, “hmm . . . I guess that’s okay,” she said, smelling Shadow’s pungent odor, and seeing his limp, “if you don’t mind however, and, I-I promise, I don’t say this to be mean, but . . . can you take a shower?” She asked him, “I can patch up your leg first, if- if you want.”
Shadow smiled, as if receiving confirmation that his smell was rank enough, “that’s not necessary,” he said, “I’m a hedgehog, I’ll just walk it off. I just need a few days to rest and let the bone set. But yes,” he smiled, “I can take a shower.”
“Great,” Mrs. Harssarn responded, “I’ll go grab you a towel and . . . well, by the time you’re out, I should have a room all set up for you. We haven’t had guests in a while, you see.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right,” he responded, cock bouncing slightly, “I’m grateful either way.”
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Shadow hadn’t touched water in what he thought to be an ungodly amount of time, save for the sweat off his fur, no liquid had touched him since he was defeated by Sonic in the Great Hedgehog War and exiled to the land of the humans. A few of his fellow hedgehogs (as a native, he reserved the right to call them “Hedgers”) had been thrown out with him, but they had all split up almost instantaneously. Each one had decided to blame the others for their current predicament, and thus had refused to speak to each other since. Shadow had had a brief hiatus with Scourge the Hedgehog at one point in time, but even Scourge refused to see Shadow after all the drama he had caused with Tristarn.
He shuddered at the mention of the name, Tristarn. He thought some part of him still felt love for the man, but society (and, as he had discovered, Tristarn himself) was not ready for an interspecies hedgehog-human marriage, let alone a gay interspecies hedgehog-human marriage. That was really the nail in the coffin. One day, Shadow had tried to be sweet and buy a fake marriage license with their names on it to simulate that reality, but Tristarn had found it to be an attack, and an all-too-painful reminder of what will never be.
Shadow had given his all his filthy clothes, besides his shoes, to Mrs. Harssarn, whom he had learned to refer to as “Mama Hen.”
Shadow turned the knob to the shower, and watched the head spur to life as it began to trickle onto him, before blasting hot water full-force onto his slick, sweaty body. He felt layer after layer of filth rinse off his body, and squirted some Suave for Kids: Strawberry Blast on his skin in a futile attempt to cover up the unending stench. He smelt a waft of strawberry enter his nose, and delighted in the pleasant sensation it produced in his hedgehog mind. He thought that a child must live here, if someone was actively using this shampoo, but he realized soon after that you didn’t have to be a child to enjoy the amazing scent of Suave.
He was about halfway through his routine when he heard the door to the bathroom creak open. He thought that it might be a curious animal at first, as he swore he heard the pitter-patter of cat paws, but when he peered around the shower curtain, he saw an amorphous blob somewhere between human and decaying demonic beast.
“Hello?” he said, angry, but attempting to maintain his notorious hot-headed temper.
“Erm- what are you doing in my shower, you-” Zark stopped talking immediately and covered his gaping mouth with the underside of his Gamer Goo-coated hands, “. . . hedgehog,” he added, under his breath as to not insult what he soon realized to be . . . Shadow 💖💖💖💖💖.
“Oh,” he said, assuming this to be the child, though also assuming that the Suave for Kids must be years old if this was the- he hesitated to say- human that was supposed to be using it, “I’m sorry, am I in your way?”
Zark had to swallow his growing arousal in order to speak without moaning, “N-no, it’s uhm . . .” he saw the head of the hedgehog’s member poke through his fur, “it’s-” he gulped, “quite alright. I- uh . . . I can wait.” Zark slammed the door and rushed out as if he had seen a dead body in the shower.
Zark ran to his bedroom with a speed faster than he had moved ever since he ran from his adultrous lover. He locked the door and slumped down onto the floor, clutching a League of Legends player guide to his chest as if he were a busty schoolgirl. He gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, completely unable to recognize in his mind what events had just transpired. At some point, he pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and, to his delight and somewhat dismay, he was not.
Suddenly, a “badoomp” noise rang out from Zark’s computer. A Discord message. From his former buddy, pal, and friend: Elarjah. Since Zark’s disappearance, Elarjah had moved on and become a pro gamer. Elarjah had come to be known by countless gamers for his world record speedrun of the Carl of Darty: Blark Orps Cord War Zarmbies map Marer Der Tarten. He wanted to know if Zark wanted to play League of Legends. After a few seconds, Elarjah remembered he hated League and blocked Zark. Elarjah doesn’t need friends. He has money.
Zark opened up Twitch to the page TharRardstarneMarner to watch Elarjah’s newest attempt to speedrun The Farsarken. It reminded Zark of the good old days, when he was good at Carl of Darty Zarmbies and carried Elarjah through Blark Orps Thraree. The map’s name also reminded him of how he had forsook himself to his coom cave (this is an on-the-nose allegory to the Bible).
He sat there, in his room, for as long as it took Shadow to finish showering. He knew he was done when he heard Shadow’s sopping wet feet squelching on the wooden floors of the house’s hallways. He walked to what Zark presumed to be the guest room, and he crept out of his room like a dickroach to peer through the keyhole and eavesdrop on their conversation:
“Thanks so much, Mama Hen,” he said to her as he dried off his wet hair with a towel, giving him what Zark thought to be an aggressively attractive bedhead, “I feel I can’t express my gratitude enough.”
“It’s nothing, really,” she said, “I was always taught to help those that are in need. It’s a karma thing; you help them, and maybe, one day, when I’m . . . in need, you’ll help me.”
Shadow smirked, “Of course,” he said, “I’m always open.”
This was a moment of silence, “Well,” she said, tension forming over the room, “there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“. . . what’s that?”
“It’s my son,” she said, stopping what she was doing and looking with forlorn eyes at the ceiling, “he’s . . . he worries me. Ever since his former love was absolutely violated directly in front of his eyes, he has never been the same. He hasn’t showered in years, he doesn’t move except to waddle to the kitchen, and all he does is eat and play League. Occasionally he shits, but he seldom ever makes it to the bathroom. I never wanted this role . . . I wanted to be a mother, not some demented kind of nurse. It’s like all I’m doing is providing him with hospice care until his heart finally fails, and he croaks, probably midway through a League match. And the worst part is . . . all he’d care about is the abandonment penalty.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, quietly, feeling a quarter-chub bubbling up, “what can I do?”
“I just want you to be there for him for a while,” she said, “he doesn’t have much social interaction, and I think it’d be good if he had some sort of friend to help him make it through this rut. Show him that’s there’s still a whole world out there.”
“I can try . . .” he said, “how long do you want this to go on for?”
“As long as you can stay. I must warn you, though . . . this town isn’t the friendliest to foreigners.”
“Believe me,” he said, “I don’t like it here any more than you do.”
He went to bed, commando, cock pressing into the bare 100-thread-count sheets.
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Zark awoke, the same as many times before, and the same as he would for what he thought to be years to come. He didn’t think he could imagine a world where things were different now. He got up and stretched like Yogi Bear, only wishing he had some sort of Boo-Boo to accompany him. He smelled himself briefly. A pungent segment of odour invading his nose with an astounding vigor. He thought about taking a shower, but thought it would actually be dangerous to attempt to peel off so much time’s worth of squalor.
But he sat up, regardless, and made his way to his computer as he had always done. Today he thought he would play Arark: Sarvarvarl Arvarlved, but as he logged on to check on his Rex’s, his sailors raised anchor, and he began to prepare his tools to relieve himself. He grabbed a sock, a ball gag, his Raycons©: The Everyday Earbuds, and his new phone, which he had bought with money he received from modding for Amouranth. He had originally taken the job because he was promised a monthly call with Amouranth (he called her “Ammy”), but she was not receptive to his advances. Either way, he turned on her stream and gave his sock a courtesy stretch. But, before he could begin, there was a knock at the door.
“Zark, dear,” his mother said, “come have some breakfast.” Zark didn’t move much, but he always found the energy when it came to food. At this point in his life, he was eating around 4000–5000 calories a day, and he only expended around 300. He was packing on about a pound a day, and that was in part due to the way he absolutely decimated any and all food his mother put in front of him. Today was Tuesday, which meant it was French toast day (things had to be scheduled in such a way, as Zark was a member of the autism spectrum and grew inconsolably furious when things went off track). Zark rushed downstairs to eat, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the hedgehog at the table, eating a slice of French toast and drinking a tall cup of black coffee.
But Shadow didn’t seem to notice him, so he slinked into the kitchen like Emile from Ratatouille, licking his lips with a feverish hunger. He piled almost an entire loaf’s worth of French toast and drowned it in what could only be called a vat of Aunt Jemima’s juices, still feeling that it would not be enough food. He fetched a couple pig’s worth of bacon and a whole container of chocky milk before returning to the dining room and sitting across from Shadow, not speaking a word as he began to annihilate the pile of food like Mia Khalifa gobbling up Johnny Sins’ Johnson & Johnson.
“You have quite the appetite,” Shadow remarked as Zark finally looked up from his plate, syrup, chocolate milk, and bacon grease dripping from his chin like he was Tub from “Hunters in the Snow.”
Zark just chuffed like a horse-pig and began to return upstairs, assuming that Shadow was to be leaving and that this experience would do nothing but tease his depraved mind.
“Hey, wait up!” Shadow called after him, gently grabbing his arm before he scuttled off like he was Dredge from Paladins: Champions of the Realm.
Zark was taken aback by the physical contact, as he had not been touched by anything but depravity for half a year, he recoiled, almost hitting Shadow’s perfectly combed hedgehog hair but missing slightly, to his dismay. He had wanted to feel it, but lacked the courage to outright touch him.
“Sorry,” Shadow said with a smirk, he liked the boy’s primal attitude, “I just wanted to ask you something.” He didn’t say what it was right away; he wanted to hear Zark’s voice.
“What is it?” Zark croaked like Le Frog from Flushed Away.
“I was about to go for a little excursion,” Shadow said, stretching his arms and letting Zark catch a glimpse of his unkept armpit hair, “out to the woods, or maybe a park. Would you like to come with me?”
Zark knew that he couldn’t, but also knew that he desperately wanted to. He felt that they were the same in that regard. Zark couldn’t go out in public for he was cast away with great shame (his former lover committed blatant adultery with another man while Zark watched), and Shadow couldn’t because people were especially hostile to all hedgehog-kind.
“I can’t-”
Shadow grabbed his hand, gently, and began caressing the inside of his palm as if giving him a palm reading, “yes, you can,” he said, playing into Zark’s fantasy, “we can. Together.”
Zark felt a tear claw at the corner of his eye, but stifled it. He didn’t speak, he only ran from Shadow. Back to his room, where he was safe, where everything was okay, where nothing could harm him . . . where he thought he would spend the rest of his life.
Shadow looked up the stairs after him, noticing the FAT ass that all the overeating had caused, and growing briefly aroused. But he discarded the feeling. He was not ready for the heartbreak again. Regardless, he thought he would get Zark to come around. If not for a night with that curvaceous minx, at least to help out Mama Hen, who had been so kind to him in his time of need.
The ground shook with every step Zark’s 600-pound arse took.
“Cheers, love,” said TRACER from OVERWATCH TWO, “the cavalry’s here!”
“Holy shit, Tracer Overwatch 2?” Zark pissed his pants a little, but he couldn’t tell because his legs were numb from diabetes. He was supposed to get them amputated, but he just started playing League instead. His tight, gray, XXXXL sweatpants, already covered in gamer grease, slowly started to stain from the piss running down his 28-inch diameter leg. Shadow realized Zark was experiencing a hallucination caused by the shitload of bacon grease that flowed down his throat.
“Holy shit that’s hot,” said Shadow, fully erect as he stood in the doorway to Zark’s room, “oh, hey Tracer.” He added.
“Catch this!” she said, throwing a pulse bomb onto Zark’s mountainous man tits.
But there was no pulse bomb. Because Zark was alone in his room, having a massive heart attack.
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The world was black until Shadow busted into the room and began giving Zark chest compressions. He could hardly feel the faint heartbeat through the several layers of visceral fat, but Shadow pressed on regardless.
“Come on you bitch!” he yelled, giving Zack mouth-to-mouth and delighted in the taste of his insulin-insufficient tongue, “STAY WITH ME!”
Zack coughed as his heart restarted, and like post-nut clarity, he felt that he now knew how to handle his relationship with Shadow.
He hugged the hedgehog, or at least tried too (his body was far too large to wrap his pork-leg arms around Shadow’s lithe figure), “thank you,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes.
They rested in that position for a moment, enjoying the contact of each other’s skin until Shadow thought he should speak, “so, what do you say about that walk now?” he asked him, face close enough to Zark’s to beg for him to be kissed, but alas, he waited.
“Let’s do it,” Zark responded, struggling to stand under his massive 600-lb body, “together.”
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It was when they first stepped outside when it happened. The sun scorched Zarkary’s skin (he was the approximate colour of Elmer’s Glue), but he found that, rather than focusing on the pain of his morbidly obese body struggling to support his heart, he was focused on the person he was with. It was like coming out for the first time at school and wandering through the hallway with your hand down the pants of another man. It was blatant, obvious, and a little too far on the nose. It didn’t seem to bother Shadow, but Zark thought that that might be ignorance, rather than strength.
He saw the stares as they walked through the park. People turned and point, kids laughed, and his heart sunk further with every snide comment. He hated them for it, but he found that, truthfully . . . he harboured some of those feelings within himself as well.
Shadow reached out for Zark’s pudgy, sausage link hand. It was sweaty, but warm. It radiated heat like the ass of a fine, well-bred Terrier. He smiled at Zark. At some point between him saving Zark’s life and now, he had decided that he would allow himself to court Zark. He didn’t think that he loved him, but he thought that he wanted to be inside him.
They found a bench, and as Zark was heaving from the strain his blanket of fat caused to his internal organs. Zark sat down with a huff, and the rolls of his thigh fat accidentally spilled over onto Shadow’s body. He would have pushed it off, but he enjoyed the sensation it produced. It was like a warm, hand-knitted, kilt Grandma Hedgehog would have made him had she not been dead from breast cancer.
They sat there for a moment, feeling each other’s presence and enjoying the beautiful, partly-cloudy sky, that is, until they saw Zark’s old acquaintance, Jarn-Jarn, point at them from afar.
He ran up, pointed at them holding hands, and yelled, “I didn’t know you could be a nigger and a hedger!” Spit flew from his mouth into Shadow’s.
Shadow stood, and ran.
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Part Three: Twelve Angry Racists
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Shadow stumbled his way into the Porta-John, bawling his crimson eyes out. Suddenly, Zark lost 400 pounds and ran after Shadow, his excess skin flaps slapping against his (hidden) chiselled abs. Suddenly, The Farmer from Shaun the Sheep showed up and sheared off the excess skin like the wool of one of his jumbucks. Zark was therefore fully realized, and his defined cum gutters pointed directly to his minute chode (the diabetes had all but ruined it).
“Shadow?” he said, walking to the Porta-John and knocking on the door like Mrs. Harssarn knocking on Zark’s when she hears that all-too-familiar slapping noise, that is: gently, and with great caution as to not upset whatever beast laid within, “Shadow, come out,” he said. It was a playful request.
“I thought things would be different by now,” he said, “I was alive when the Hedgehog-Crow Laws were passed, alright? I know what it’s like. We organized sit-ins and we protested. There was a time, back in 1954, when SCOTUS ruled on Sticks v. Board of Education, when I thought that things were finally changing. In 1957, I was part of The Little Rock Nine that enrolled in Little Rock Central High. I was there when some friends and I founded the National Association for the Advancement of Hedgehog People (NAAHP). I was there when George Floyd (who was actually a hedgehog), was brutalized by policemen in 2020. I was there through it all, Zark. And we have nothing to show for it. This town is just as hedgephobic as it had always been, and I don’t think it can ever change.”
“Shadow,” Zark said, poking his peonis through the keyhole of the Portable Potty. Shadow pat the tip as if it were an affectionate cat, “that isn’t true. You have to give these people time, they- they . . . they just don’t know, they couldn’t possibly understand what you’ve been through,” he felt a speck of crusted shit fall off his ass hair, “. . . and now, the only way you can show them, and prove to them that hedgehog lives matter, is to scream it as loud as you can from the rooftops.”
Shadow chuffed.
“Look,” Zark choked (this was the most he had spoken in a decade besides his screams in match chat, so he was feeling parched), “my friend, Sard, he invited me to an alumni night at my old school,” he felt a ball in his throat, and fought to find the courage to speak, he continued, “won’t you come with me?” he asked, “as . . . my date?”
Shadow smirked. Everything was going according to plan. Zark had fallen for him, as he knew he would, and now his heart belonged to Shadow. Just as the rich eat the hearts of orphans to live forever, Shadow planned to consume Zark’s essence to gain Zark’s Muslim sand powers. He knew Zark’s heart would be less potent than a pure-breed (as Zark was a mud-blood), but he knew that this was the gateway juice that would open up his ability to pursue higher powers. Like the Chaos Emeralds, which were still on Morbius with Sonic.
That was the reason Shadow and his army had lost The Great Hedgehog War. Sonic pulled out the emeralds like anal beads and Shadow’s army had no chance against their raw stench and power. When Shadow was banished, he promised himself he would come back.
“He should’ve killed me,” was the first line he uttered when he crash-landed and killed the dinosaurs, “because I’m coming back.”
He would come back and finish what he started. He knew that had he had the emeralds, Sonic and his assorted lot would stand no change against him. The gates into the wormhole that leads to Morbius are protected by a magic gate that senses evil souls and rejects their entry. He needed Zark for that reason. The only beings capable of completely bypassing such a structure would be a Muslim, as they have no soul.
After that, all he would need is a can of Red Bull© Energy Drink, and he could run right in (that was one thing he found he enjoyed about Earth, the food).
But for now, he had to satiate Zark’s raw lust. He did appreciate Zark. Though he didn’t love him, and knew that he never would, he still wouldn’t mind tapping into Zark’s maple tree and getting the syrup.
“I will,” he responded, quivering slightly. Zark’s nerves were starting to get the better of him as all his holes began to slowly leak various bodily fluids, but he staved off the feelings of intense passion, and instead embraced Shadow; quickly, softly, and with a small touch of the tip of his millimetre theatre into Shadow’s thigh.
Shadow didn’t hug back. He had to remain mysterious. But he didn’t want to completely reject Zark, so he began to pet him, like a monkey picks bugs off another monker’s back. Zark’s miniature member slowly raised up with a slight angle of 15-degrees with respect to the horizontal and an offset of 23. He hated transgender people, however, he might be one. A few times, he had fantasized about Shadow being inside him, but he wasn’t sure that his boy pussy (also known to the Zoomer community as a bussy) could take the pounding. He needed something more flexible.
He took the call to his friend, Martt Warlsh, and asked him his opinion, “I love transgender people,” he said, “you should get a vaginoplasty right now! I’ll administer it!”
“I can’t,” he said, knowing that Shadow was a raging homosexual, and thus is disgusted by the mere mention of women, “my love depends on it.” He shuttered at the mental image of pussy lips.
“I understand,” Martt said, “as I am a liberal, I understand the plight of the closeted transgender. I, myself, am a bisexual, and have recently come out to my family.”
Zark hung up, but appreciated Martt’s candor and upfront, friendly attitude. He appreciated the man for his personality, not his body, which was rare for Zark. That’s not to say that Martt wasn’t attractive. He had the body of a rugged, muscular lumberjack. Zark could picture him sweating in overalls over a block of wood, but he didn’t think that was fair to Martt, as Martt had expressed that their relationship was purely platonic.
Zark briefly thought about the moon dragon from DragonVale. The moon dragon was the character he had lusted after before he discovered Shadow, and Zark still thought the moon dragon to have the bustiest tits of not just any dragon, but of all characters ever created. He wished he could use them like a pillow and wake up halfway through the night, parched, and suckle on the moony titty milkies.
Just like Poppy in the end of Trolls, they were in a cauldron, about to be boiled by goblinos. Next, they went to alumni night. The sea of colours burned Zark’s monochromatic, dog-like eyes. When they entered the lobby of the school, Zark noticed Jarsy, Sharn, Sard, Marthew, Darnarld Trarmp, Elarjah, Martt Warlsh, Jarn-Jarn, Arnyar, Barn Smarth, and Tristarn (the last three, or maybe four, were worrisome to the two of them). They also noticed two characters they hadn’t seen for a while, this guy named Narah, and some goober named Rick.
Elarjah was standing in a corner talking to Narah.
“You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to, so that when they turn their backs on you, you'll get the chance to put the knife in,” Elarjah stated, angrily, seductively, in the draft of the Narthwarstarn Larhar Har Scharl lobby. Elarjah wore a red kilt, fresh from Scotland, and tightly held onto a bagpipe, similar to the way Barn Smarth was currently holding Arnyar’s tits.
Zark Kubrick-stared at Barn Smarth (this signifies his descent into madness). His eyes twitched. Shadow placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear, “It’s OK, you’re going to be OK,” then pecked a kiss on Zark’s cheek. Goober Rick walked up to the couple and stated, “ewwwwwwwww, homosexuals.”
Zark suddenly whipped out his peonis and slapped it onto Goober Rick, to his slight dismay and pleasure. It was still wet from his crotch sweat, so it made a squelching sound when it touched him.
“Now you’re gay too,” Zark said, growling and pouncing on all fours like a street cat, “and none of us like homos.”
The crowd (except for Martt Warlsh, who is a raging liberal), turned onto Goober Rick and nailed him to a cross before placing a faggot beneath him and lighting him ablaze. Goober Rick screamed, but they just used it as background noise for their slow dance.
After this had happened, Sharn looked at Shadow as he walked past, his face turning slightly green from disgust. All twelve of them (now eleven, though Goober Rick was in thorough agreement with the following statement) hated hedgers with a burning passion. Their hatred was similar in volume to the total hate the radiated from all American citizens to Middle Easterners after 9/11.
Arnyar (the infidel who had broken Zark’s heart by sleeping with another man, Barn Smarth, right in front of Zark) noticed Zark and walked up to him, sensually, as if she yearned for his touch. She placed a hand on his chest and her other hand on the back of his shoulder. Then, slowly, a third hand came out from her back and raised itself to his face, carefully caressing his cheek as she drew her face closer to his, Zark’s heart pounded, but he didn’t think he had the testicular fortitude to pull himself away from Arnyar. Besides that, he couldn’t see Barn Smarth, and wondered if perhaps Arnyar could be all his again. He thought . . . in a way, that is what he wanted. But, when he compared her to Shadow, he couldn’t decide a victor, and that’s saying something. Nobody else had been able to command such a control on his heart since the infidel herself.
Noticing the pained expression on Zark’s face, Shadow grew angry and shoved Arnyar to the ground. He imagined that she was likely also after the Chaos Emeralds, and he knew that he couldn’t let her lay her grubby paws on them.
The crowd gasped and when Shadow looked up, he noticed all eyes were on him. Not only was he a hedger, he was a gay hedger, and he had just assaulted one of their own: a human (and a woman, but they didn’t care about that).
They all stared with hatred in their eyes. Their hearts had just been ignited by seeing Faggy Goob Rick burned at the stake, and they lusted for more bloodshed. Besides that, it was every human’s dream to murder and consume the flesh of a hedger with his brethren, and Shadow was a prized, 12-point buck- that is to say, his flesh would be tender and taste sweet to their peckish tongues.
They all stepped towards him, in unison, before Zark took a step in front of Shadow.
“Don’t you touch him!” he yelled, “what gives you the right to turn on him like this?”
Jarn-Jarn, who was their leader and by far the most racist, stepped forward to respond, raising his fist as if to silence the angry mob behind him, “he doesn’t belong here,” he said, “hedgers have caused us nothing but trouble. They steal our jobs, please our women with their massive hedgehog cocks, and leave their bodies wasted and unsuitable for our small, pale penises.” Shadow smirked, it was, after all, somewhat of a compliment.
Zark spoke again, “not all hedgehogs,” he said.
“No,” Jarn-Jarn retorted with a smirk, “this one.” He licked his lips, and a chubber climbed the side of his thigh.
“I’m not going to let you do this,” Shadow said, retrieving his .50 Browning Machine Gun from his prison pocket and tearing through Jarn-Jarn’s body like a warm knife through soft butter. The blood from his freshly killed body sent the other attendees into a frenzy, and they were briefly distracted as they tore into his flesh like a pack of hyenas.
“Quickly!” Shadow yelled, grabbing Zark’s hand and leading him through a door marked, “Might be an Exit, I don’t know 👉👈.” They ran for hours, until they arrived in the parking lot of Zark’s job, Jark’s Warbarck Bargars. They stared up at the sign, winced slightly, and ran in with little hesitation.
The lights flickered, flickeringly. After the Great Recession of 2028 after the third term of President Jar Barden, most sit-down restaurants were forced to close or adapt to the new fast food DoorDash society. Jark’s Warbarck Bargars was one of the first victims, after their prices skyrocketed to $18.99 for a “Craft Your Own Single;” a massive increase from the already expensive $6.99 in the year of our Lard 2024, which, however, did not reflect the decrease in burger size. None of that mattered, though, since the building had been abandoned since 2029. Zark was astounded it still had power.
The two set up camp in the dirty kitchen. Each surface was covered in a thick layer of grease and grime, built up since the store’s opening in 2014. Shadow made a face of disgust at his environment. He was fine with himself and his lovers being this dirty, but not his shelter. He scanned the room and noticed the 20 years of health inspections displayed by the door to the dining area. Mostly F’s mixed with 2 D’s. He felt a little stomach acid launch itself up his throat, which he quickly pushed back down.
“We should probably eat something, I’m quite starved,” he cried, “Or as the Germans would say, ‘Fuck, I’m hungry.’” He walked to a solid steel door, which led to a large, walk-in freezer. He attempted to open it, but years of not being used led it to be stuck and difficult to budge for his frail body. Shadow sighed and walked over, tapping the door with his pinkie, which caused the door to dent significantly. The two pulled the door off its hinges and were hit by a terrible stench. Inside were hundreds of no-beef Imparssible Parties©, all rotted beyond belief (beef patties were replaced after President Barden changed the text of the 2nd Amendment to say, “A well-fed Peoples being necessary to the happiness of a free State, it is required of the people to keep and eat Vegetable Meat. Infringement results in death”).
Shadow walked in and investigated. He noticed some frozen carcasses under the shelving.
“Good Lard, even the rats didn’t want to eat this filth,” but he saw maggots eating the flesh, and grew quite aroused at their wriggling. He looked at Zark momentarily, and imagined a universe in which he violated him on the floor of the walk-in freezer. But he knew that he couldn’t . . . not yet. He had to make Zark wait for it, and it would taste all the sweeter when he finally gave it to him.
“Well, we can’t eat thi-” Shadow was interrupted by Zark, who returned to his TLC ways by diving onto the rotten meat and dead varmint carcasses, devouring them with an astounding vigor. It was as if he was a starved African child, and he was just released in a CiCi’s Pizzeria, “. . . never mind.” Shadow said, seeing the depravity of Zark and finding it immensely attractive.
Zark oinked like a little piggy before finally looking up from the decimation. He had eaten 18 spoiled containers of veggie burgers, and had eaten the mould and rat carcasses with it. The freezer actually looked relatively clean now, and Shadow felt a smidgen more comfortable in the space as Zark had licked the grime off of the walls.
“We should probably start preparing,” Shadow told him, unsure if his words were reaching Zark’s ears, “those things are probably coming for us.” He neglected to call them human, for he thought a being with humanity wouldn’t neglect another sentient being as those at the alumni night had.
They spent the next couple of minutes in an ‘80s montage, barricading the dilapidated windows and doors of the Warbarck Bargars, touching them in a way they haven’t been touched since the great Burger Riots of ‘25, when thousands of hungry Americans had broken into every bargar joint across the country and slaughtered all employees in their way. That’s actually part of the reason Jark’s closed . . . that, and the rampant sexual misconduct charges heaved against almost every staff member working there, including Zark, who was the worst of the bunch (he had decided to make others feel as Arnyar, his adulterous former lover, made him feel).
After they had effectively TRANSformed Warbarck into a bunker, they saw the first glimpse of an angry mob on the horizon. Now, it wasn’t just 12 (minus one for Goober Rick) angry racists, it was around 12,000, the entire population of their small town, including Mama Hen, though she seemed apprehensive at the idea of mobbing her “beloved” son.
They stopped outside the door, and yelled into via a megaphone: “Zark, Shadow - we know you’re in there.”
“No we’re not,” they called back. The crowd walked away in disappointment, assuming they had got the wrong Warbarck (there was another one a few miles down the road, as Jark’s had become immensely popular just before its downfall).
“They’ll be back,” Shadow said, “but I bought us some time.”
Zark steeled himself, and breathed in. It was as if he suddenly remembered an avenue of escape, but also remembers the aforementioned avenue as immensely dangerous, “I have an idea,” he said. Zark led Shadow to the basement, accidentally brushing up on his peonis as he grabbed his hand, “it’s down here.”
“Where are you taking me?” Shadow said, playfully, thinking that Zark was fulfilling Shadow’s sexual fantasy of being double-crossed and left to die in a well in someone’s basement like in The Silence of the Lambs. Shadow began to unbutton his Wrangler © brand jeans, but Zark didn’t have sex with him, to his dismay. He led him to a Skylander’s portal (there was one at the bottom of every Warbarck) and plugged it in.
It spurred to life, and Zark gazed directly into Shadow’s eyes, “This takes you to where you desire to go the most.”
The portal shone a bright green light on the two, with a dark green swirl in the middle. Zark reached down and grabbed Shadow’s hand. They took a deep breath, then stepped forward into the unknown.
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Part Four: To Kill A Hedgehog
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White light. They were blinded. Surrounded by nothingness.
“A-are we dead?” Zark shivered slightly from the coldness surrounding him.
“Maybe that portal put us in a coma.” Shadow pinched Zark.
“Ow, you cunt.”
Their vision slowly cleared, revealing the night sky. The two were lying on asphalt. Shadow sat up and scanned their surroundings. His eyes quickly caught a red sign.
Jark’s Warbarck Bargars.
Zark remained on the ground, comfortable, ready to fall asleep, until he noticed something in the distance. The mob they had turned away was now coming straight for them. Zark got up, and the two ran to the backdoor of the Warbarck. This must have been the other Warbarck, the one they sent the mob to. The Skylander’s portal must have been confused and sent them here because Zark’s raging lust for Imparssible Parties© wasn’t quenched by the other Warbarck’s supply.
“I’m sorry, Shadow,” he said, but Shadow wasn’t listening.
Shadow was focused on something peculiar about the restaurant. He had an immense sense of déjà vu that he hadn’t had in 40 years. He hadn’t ever got this feeling before in a chain restaurant, he should know, he frequented MarcDonald’s.
Then it hit him.
The restaurant was an exact replica of the other Warbarck, only . . . mirrored? They had every minute detail replicated perfectly, including the Peter Griffin-shaped stain under the grill, the graffiti in the men’s bathroom that read: “A dog walks into a bar and says, ‘I cannot see a thing. I’ll open this one,’” or even the graffiti underneath it that said, “Beaner,” and had twelve tally marks next to it. The door to exit the kitchen once again had health inspection grades, only now they were ꟻ’s and ᗡ’s.
A loud bang echoed through the desolate building. The mob had reached the front door.
“What are we going to do, Shadow?” Zark cried.
“I am unsure, amica mea, we may be doomed.”
The mob broke through the door, their torches illuminating the dining room. Their chants filled the restaurant with voices like the ghosts of the thousands killed during the Burger Riots. They surrounded the two, chanting, “Bring us the hedger, bring us the hedger!” and screaming the occasional n-word (HARD R). They closed into the ground, entrapping them, encircling them like sharks smelling blood in the water.
“Shadow.”
“Yes, kitten?”
“I think I can smell toast.”
“Oh, yeah, I just made some,” he said, “that’s most likely why you are smelling it.”
Zark collapsed on the floor, seizing, “I think I am having a stroke!” he exclaimed while biting into the fresh toast (with jam).
“No, you’re fine, I just made toast earlier.”
“Naur, Iarm laterally darying,” Zark said, slurring every word as his brain turned to mush, and the left side of his body fell, paralyzed.
Suddenly, he was okay, and the crowd, who were briefly stunned by the odd turn of events, enclosed, encircled again, and started screaming slurs like they were chanting for their favorite college football team.
“Fucking hedgehog caused that kid to have a serizeure!” said Sharn, who was on the spectrum.
“Me, too, am autism!” said Zark, who was also autistic, and thus, Sharn felt sympathetic for the homo hedger-lover, and retreated, bringing his young, autistic friend with him (Charse).
The crowd closed in, closing in, growing ever closer, until they were millimetres away from their Hedgehog Victim. One of them decided to test their luck, and reached out to yank one of the hairs off of Shadow’s muscular back. Shadow whipped around, and struck the man hard in the jaw, breaking the bones and sending shards and blood flying across the Warbarck larby.
“Now you’ve done it!” screamed Jarn-Jarn, whose raw hatred for hedgers had revived his mutilated corpse.
They began beating him, and one of them knelt on his back.
“I can’t breathe!” said Shadow.
“Shadow!” Zark cried out. He whipped his phone out and began recording, “you’ll never get away with this, you racist scums.”
“Oh fuck, he’s recording us, the world will see this, and we’ll get fired from our corporate jobs,” one man shouted.
“My children will never be allowed to go to Warlt Darsney Warld again!” a woman cried out in pain (it was Mama Hen, who was dismayed to see her son’s lover brutalized, but equally as frenzied to see the hedgehog bastard get what he deserved).
“Quick!” Zark shouted, “let’s go to the other Skylander’s portal beneath this Warbarck!”
Before Shadow could react, he ran out of breath and overdosed on ketamine.
“You’re gonna kill me, man!” It was the last thing he said before losing consciousness.
“Oh my Gard! You killed Shadow!”
“You bastards!” a bystander shouted in response.
But it was all a rouse, and Shadow used their confusion to make his move. He slowly no-clipped through the floor, landing in front of the portal. Zark TP’d to player, and they were on their way.
“RDM!” the crowd started chanting, begging for an admin to ban him from the server.
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Part Five: A Tale of Two Hedgers
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Sonic sighed as his penis heaved.105Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdBkXUNs2hP
He drove away from the Warbarck burger joint in a 1993 Fard Branco. As he took off his fleshy mask, a police officer in the mob noticed and shouted, “Stop that hedger!” He and the other police officers jumped into their Chevrolet 9C1 police cruisers and followed at an insanely dangerous and quick 28 miles per hour. One of the cars suddenly crashed into a tree, and now only two police cars chased him.
Sonic chuckled, “heh,” he said, “I guess I’ll give them a show.” He then pressed the turbo button on his car, and several spider legs grew out of the base. Now, he began crawling across the road at a dangerous 32 miles per hour, and began to slowly gain space between himself and the police.
One of the police poked his head out of the car window and removed his hat, “my God-” he said, never before seeing something so positively radical.
Then, Sonic took out two mounted machine guns from Halo 3: ODST and two marines spawned in to man them. They pointed them towards the police, and began to light 'em up. After the two police were dead, Shadow decided to loot their bodies and found 89g, a few iron and steel arrows, and an enchanted shield. The shield just gave him extra mana, however, and he felt that he didn’t need it, so he gave it to his follower.
Sonic gazed over to the Tristarn mask that he had left haphazardly on the passenger seat. It had been a long time since he had taken it off, and the smell emanating from the sweat, blood, and occasional splooge of semen made him both disgusted and aroused.
He thought he might put it on again.
He wore it with a smile for hours at a time, and now he found that he felt he didn’t belong when he wasn’t wearing the mask, but felt a sort of security when he dressed up as Tristarn. He imagined that was in part due to the fact he had only ever found love with that mask on.
It was with Shadow. He and Shadow-
Tristarn and Shadow, technically, he thought, as Shadow had not known he was performing “tree and shrub care,” not interspecies sexual intercourse. Either way, he supposed that as he had only ever found love wearing the mask, there was likely a part of him that thought it would only be possible for him to renew that comfort if he still had the mask on.
He sighed. It was a deep, remorseful sigh. He wondered then, too, if Shadow would ever have loved him had he known that he was the very same person who had exiled him from Morbius.
He rolled down the windows and took the roof off of his convertible, beginning to reach the long stretch of Route 66 that led him to his house in Los Angeles, CA. He was known by another name: Gavin Newsom, and he had been slowly attempting to drive the state into the ground. But, the conservatives kept coming in and salvaging the ruin of his various “progressive” policies, including reparations, minimum wage hikes, and many more.
He didn’t really know why he hated California so much. Maybe it was because that’s where Shadow landed, and every time he saw the crater he left, it reminded him of the heartbreak, the pain, and the suffering. Maybe it was because that’s where hedging (the act of hazing a hedger) was first invented by white men to punish Emmett Till, who was both a hedgehog and who lived in California, after he had whistled at a white human female.
He shook his head. People always talked about how far they’ve come . . . yeah, only sometimes he had a real hard time seeing it.
Regardless, he put on his Gavin Newsom mask with a sigh and began the journey to his multi-story mansion on the top of what he dubbed to be “Hustlers’ Hill,” complete with rivers of bourbon and candy cane trees (he had planted them himself when he was only a lad).
“Good morning, Mr. Newsom,” his hot secretary said, cleavage bouncing (it was the only reason he had hired her).
“Good morning, Tammy,” he spoke, but without life. He didn’t feel a desire to continue any of the many endeavors he had started on this Earth, one he was quickly realizing was corrupt beyond fixing.
But Shadow is still here, he reminded himself, somewhere, somehow . . . I will find him.
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Shadow rolled over and lit a cigarette. He had just finished inside Zark.
“Y’know, this reminds me of a joke my old friend, Elarjah, told me once. A chicken and an egg are in bed together. The chicken rolls over and lights a cigarette, then the egg says, ‘I guess we know the answer to that question,’” Zark sighed.
“I don’t get it,” Shadow said, who had never pleased an egg. He considered Zark an egg because of a few comments he had made earlier.
Zark didn’t feel like explaining, he had had too much excitement today and needed rest. He flipped onto his side and fell asleep. As Zark slept, Shadow pulled the covers off of himself and slipped out of the bed. He stood in front of the mirror in the dimly lit motel bathroom and thought to himself, where did it all go wrong. He looked over at the tile on the wall and gave a light smack to a discoloured one. This caused the tile to pop off the wall, revealing a small compartment. Shadow removed a little plastic baggie from the compartment and investigated the white powder inside. He sighed, then opened the baggie and placed his snout in the opening. It was powdered sugar, and as he had hypoglycemia, he had to eat sweets to maintain his blood-sugar levels.
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Sonic the Hedgehog fucking shot a homeless man in broad daylight. Killed him in cold blood. His blue fur was stained red by the excess amounts of blood that spewed out of the man’s head. It reminded him of the one time, when he was Tristarn, that he had had Shadow fuck him while he was on his period. It had rained blood like that one Rick & Morty episode with the giant guy.
Sonic was bored, so he went out into the street, looking at the hundreds of feeble beings spread throughout the sidewalks. They disgusted him. He took off, faster than he had ever run before, plowing through as many of the people on the sidewalk as he could.
One of the guys screamed, “Robin!” for like no reason, but he just continued anyway.
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Shadow wiped the powder away from his nose. Suddenly, he was erect again and fucked Zark for the twenty-second time in a row. He was pretty much shooting blanks now, but the cocaine kept making him skip his refractory period and grow immensely horny.
Shadow’s high wore off after an hour. As soon as it did, he crashed, falling asleep on the bed. The four straight hours of “playtime” had led to Zark being incontinent (in layman's terms, bitch was pissin' the bed). Shadow looked over at Zark and saw his sweat and shame bead on his forehead, and grew immensely disgusted. With himself, yes, but more so with what he had become. A savage, primal beast fueled only by archaic instinct- he chuckled. There was something funny about how far a king can fall when you take away his kingdom.
He slid out of the bed, looked at the empty bag of “powdered sugar,” and walked to the bathroom. He splashed ice-cold water onto his face, and took a look into the mirror. The visage looking back was abhorrent, depraved, and disgusting.
He vomited in the toilet. It was light and thin, but it burned his heart all the same. Time moved slower on Morbius, but Shadow didn’t know yet and gave no real regard to his timeline to get the Chaos Emeralds.
Besides, he knew that Sonic was still on Earth. He knew all the while, when he was dating Tristarn, that it was really Sonic in a costume. There is a certain intrinsic feeling hedgehogs received when they made love to another hedgehog. Besides, Sonic’s (Tristarn’s) member was so large that it could not have possibly belonged to a human. It had torn up his insides, really, and be thought that part of that rearrangement was why he felt so much pain, nowadays. His stomach and his mind routinely experienced shooting spikes of icy-hot pain, and the only things that alleviated it were drugs, alcohol, and sex with disgusting half-breed Muslim pigs.
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Jarsy sat down at his dining room table. A blue paper laid out in front of him. His white pen danced across the paper, like a choreographed dance in the high school rendition of Marma Miar that led to Zark’s downfall.
After the fame of his large member winning world records had worn off, Jarsy decided to become a humanitarian. He opened the largest farm in the world which ended world hunger (but increased obesity rates 20x because of the chemicals he used (Jar Barden made him do it, the law required it)), he also became the head of the World Infrastructure Organization, which builds up infrastructure in rural areas so that they have almost no natural beauty.
His latest project was a massive bridge spanning the Atlantic Ocean. That was, until, a boat hit one of the main supports and the entire thing collapsed, killing millions. But it’s okay, because Jarsy had enough money to pay off each one of the dead’s families with a hefty sum of 8.2 B. But, besides that, he was rich in character. Until he wasn’t. Occasionally, he had what he called “Nights of Depravity,” where he fucked all the bitches he wanted (men and women), drank all the liquor, and took all the drugs he wanted. Tomorrow was one such day, and he had a cushy binge set up with some guy named Tristarn, a person he had met at an anti-hedger rally the other week.
The doorbell rang, and his servant answered.
“Master Karnsmarn?” his servant asked, “it’s a Mr. Tristarn. He claims to know you.”
“Let him in,” Jarsy commanded. His slaveservant was pretty much entirely under his control.
“Yes, Master Karnsmarn.”
His servant’s old age disgusted him. He despised being around old people, as he felt their ugliness would rub off on him. This hatred of old people mainly stemmed from the fact that Jar Barden forced him to put harmful chemicals in his produce. Jarsy snapped his fingers a few times. The servant understood what this signalled and nodded his head, forlornly. He grabbed his chest and fell to the ground, dying of a heart attack.
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Shadow and Zark walked through the Candy Cane Forest. Shadow wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking, but it had to have been at least eight hours. He stifled a yawn, causing him to collapse immediately, falling into a deep slumber.
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Jarsy sat down in his reclining chair in his lounge. He motioned for Tristarn to sit in an adjacent chair, then placed his favourite record onto the player.
“This is a classic independent album, incredibly underground, only about five copies are known to exist due to nobody knowing the band.”
The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance (MCR) started playing.
“Did you know,” Jarsy waited a moment for dramatic effect, “that the events of September 11, 2021, inspired the singer, Garard Wary, to form this band?” There were actually two 9/11’s, but the more recent one, the one in 2021, as opposed to 1992, was caused by someone they knew, Sard. Sard was incredibly dismayed after the decision to cancel affirmative action, so he decided to live up to his dreams and follow in the footsteps of the (what he designated to be) “brave heroes” who stood up to capitalism. He got on a plane to the new sextuplet towers (they built more), but accidentally missed and hit a nearby synagogue, which promptly erupted into flames. He would have been happy with this outcome, but the fire spread to a mosque, and he began to wail with sadness and guilt-stricken grief. He attended years of therapy afterward, and finally accepted his place in LCCC after he and his therapist had an illicit affair for several months. His wife killed herself when she found out, but he decided that that was a blessing in disguise. He married the therapist, threw a hijab on her, and moved to live on campus. To this day, however, he is known in infamy as “the terrorist who managed to hurt his own people.”
The first 9/11 was a (poorly done) inside job (nobody got hurt, except Barll Clarnton, who was accused of having an affair (with Sonic?!??)).
“No, I never could have concluded such a thing.”
“Yeah, it’s quite interesting, actually. It also helped to inspire this one story I read on Wartpard called ‘Twilight,’ which also inspired another fan fiction I read called ‘50 Shades of Grey,’” he stopped for a moment, and licked his lips, “I had sexual relations to that fanfic.”
Just then, and without warning, Sonic rose and grabbed an axe.
“Hey Jarsy!”
He then chopped directly into Jarsy’s skull. He chuckled, “try getting a reservation at MarcDonald’s now, you fucking stupid chink!”
Jarsy was actually a China man in disguise.
FIN
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Chapter Six: American Hedger
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Shadow rolled over. He had just finished in Zark again.
Zark woke up, “well that’s a pleasant way to wake up :)”
“Heh, yeah, I guess so,” Shadow put his hands in his trench coat pockets and walked away, expecting Zark to follow like a lost pup. He did.
“Hey!” Zark cried after him, “wait up!”
Zark started bawling his eyes out. He had never felt true love before.
“Have you ever had a dream?”
“No, not after what happened to the last one of my kind that had one.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Go sit in that bush.”
“Ok.”
Zark climbed into the bush. Shadow followed after and had stellar sex with Zark again.
Suddenly, Luffy from One Piece climbed out of the bush.
“Erm, this is my home??”
They ignored him and continued steaming up the windows. Shadow grew horny and fucked Zark again. They continued on their mission.
“Where are we going?” Zark asked, pulling his mysterious-white-liquid-stained pants up. There was also mysterious white liquid leaking from his ass and mouth.
“Clean yourself up,” Shadow said, throwing a tissue at Zark, “we’re going to The Mosque where the Chaos Emeralds are held.”
“Woah.”
Zark fell on the floor, the energy of the planet was competing with his minority energy. He was, after all, a half-breed camel jockey. Zark thought back to when Arnyar broke up with him after being sodomized by Barn Smarth. He hadn’t had that thought in some time. He felt that every time Shadow finished inside of him, the crystal clear image of Arnyar’s face pushed against Barn Smarth’s became blurrier.
Shadow grabbed Zark by his scruff and carried him through the forest. At the end of the pathway, bright lights coated the sky and ground, but not the trees, plants hated light here.
“Shadow.”
“Yes, kitten?”
“There’s something I’ve been hiding from you…”
Before Zark could finish, a meteor crashed down from the sky in the path in front of them. The two ran up to investigate, and as the smoke cleared, a metal pod was revealed, similar to the one from Fortnite Chapter 1 Season 4 that contained the season’s secret skin ‘The Visitor.’
After having killed the chinks, which were what gave Shadow his powers, Sonic felt that he could finally face him.
Sonic stepped out of the pod, letting the fresh air beat his face.
“YOU! I’ve been preparing for fifteen Earth years for this day.”
Sonic stepped closer to Shadow and immediately collapsed to the ground. The intensity of the impact shaking his organs a little too much.
Shaken from the encounter, Zark decided he wasn’t going to talk anymore.
Shadow picked him back up and continued down the path.
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The light grew brighter and brighter, consuming their vision. Until finally, they reached the climax of the light, allowing their eyes to adjust.
The Mosque sat at the end of a town square. A large fountain was erect in the center, flowing with wine. Every building was covered in neon lights, similar to Earth’s New Vegas (I think this name is pretty self-explanatory).
“Good lard, this place has changed quite a bit since I was last here,” Shadow said, in awe of the way his homeland had been gentrified.
He strutted forward, towards the bottom of the seemingly infinite stairway leading to the mosque. Throwing Zark over his shoulder, Shadow began climbing, slowly, taking in every detail of his surroundings, scanning for any hostiles. While climbing, they watched a man grow tired of the climb and fall approximately 20 feet down the stairs. Eventually, Shadow grew bored and used his powers of flight to ascend to the top.
When he entered the doors, he saw there, at a demonic alter in the center of the mosque, Sard, about to sacrifice a lamb to Allah. But when he saw Shadow there, he stopped, and looked back.
“Hello,” he said, “I’ve been expecting you.” Just then, he turned around and lunged at Shadow, drawing a lengthy katana from a sheath at his waist. It was engraved with the name Masamune, but it was in Japanese, so it looked like 正宗.
Shadow dodged Sard’s initial surprise attack, but the loop of the butt plug he was wearing got caught by the tip of Sard’s sword. It yanked it out, and shit suddenly ejaculated out of his ass and coated the floor of the mosque in a hot, greasy stank.
Sard just chuckled, stepped back, and raised his swords as if to prepare for a second strike. He swung the sword a breadth, covering a circumference of nearly 8 feet. Shadow noticed Zark in the crossfire, and quickly jumped on him as if to lead him away. Sard knew he was going to do this, and he stopped the sword short of Shadow’s armor-plated back and raised it above his head. He was about to bring it down when a crash resounded from the Eastern side of the mosque. Dismayed that his place of worship was being invaded, Sard neglected to finish off Shadow and turned to the attacker.
It was the mob of racist, anti-hedgers from Warbarck, and, at their head, Sonic, dressed as Tristarn, carrying Cloud’s Buster Sword (Sonic had briefly disguised himself as Cloud for the duration of FFVII), engraved with all but one of the seven chaos emeralds.
Sard chuffed, “I should have known.” He took a defensive stance, and began swinging with wild abandon at the hoards of anti-hedgers sicked on him by Sonic. His sword was good, and his mind, sharp, so he mowed down the crowd like he was playing Fruit Ninja. Blood and disemboweled entrails mixed with the shit on the ground, and became a slick, swampy mixture coating the discarded bodies of the thousands of racists.
Sard was about up to his knees in the stuff when Sonic himself began walking forward, not to strike him, but to speak: “Brother,” he said, removing his Tristarn mask to reveal a hijab, “we need not fight each other. I want not to ruin this place of worship, I simply wish to acquire the final chaos emerald, which was taken from me by the Council of Ten.” Sard withdrew his weapon slightly, but stayed on his guard. Shadow was beginning to stand after seeing to Zark to make sure he’s okay, and witnessed his most vital fear transpire before his eyes.
“Why do you think I would allow you to have this treasure most sacred?” Sard asked him, scowling with intense anger and bloodlust.
“I know why you are here, Sard,” he said, “or should I say, Maximilian.” Sard’s eyes grew surprised for a moment, but he quelled them as to not show weakness, “you were driving the planes on that fateful day. But you . . . miscalculated. As punishment for destroying our place of worship, you were punished to remain in this temple till death draw you away from it, with the clause that should you allow the heart to be destroyed, your soul will be trapped in hell for all eternity.”
“So you know,” Sard said, “but that does not matter now. You are destroying this temple, and I will kill you.”
“Go ahead,” Sonic said, “try.”
Sard smirked and slashed with the speed of a hurricane gale at Sonic’s neck, but Masamune stopped short and his hands became frozen as the blade was mere inches away from cutting Sonic’s throat.
“How in the-”
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Sard did not respond. He was struggling to regain control of Masamune.
“I can set you free,” Sonic said, letting go of the sword, “all I need is that final chaos emerald, and I could have the power to overrule Allah.”
Sard dropped his sword, and knelt in the shit, blood, and more recently, cum, mixture simmering on the ground (Shadow had fucked Zark again while they waited for the confrontation to be over).
“It can’t be . . .” he said, questioning his commitment to his god.
“It can,” Sonic said, grabbing Sard’s shoulder and lifting him away, using his magic to whisk away the filth from his pants like they do in Harry Potter, “I just need to know where it is.”
Some time ago, the Council of Ten had all hidden one of the chaos emeralds in the most secret place they could find after ruling Sonic “unworthy and way too gay to wield this much power.”
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Sharn sat alone in the local International House of Breakfast. A waitress came over and placed chocolate pancakes in front of him. Sharn took one bite and decided it was far too much for his eating disorder to handle. He sat with his face pressed against the window, his depression returning to him as he remembered all his friends leaving him after high school. Sharn was obsessed with Genshin Impact and was desperately in love with the lardy Farina. He then thought about something Sard had said to him years ago.
“Can you get off that stupid fucking game and focus on something more important? Like making money? I’m going to build a casino one day, it’s like a get-rich-quick scheme.”
Sharn sighed, he wondered what Sard had been up to ever since he was kicked out of every prestigious college. He thought he remembered seeing him in the news at some point.
He got up, without paying, and left, walking down the sidewalk as rain poured over him. A bright neon light shone through the dense, toxic rain, luring Sharn in. He stumbled over the smooth walkways until he was stood in front of the sign.
It was a Catholic Church.
Sharn stumbled inside, desperately trying to seek forgiveness for his failures as a human. He sat down in a pew and listened to the sermon. The words of the preacher frightened him, telling him exactly what he should’ve known all along.
The end was near, and he was never going to paradise.
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And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood.
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Part Seven: Shadow Potter and the Hedgly Hollows
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“I’ll never tell you where it is,” Sard said, “I, I- can’t. It’s not in my nature. I neglected my people once, and I can’t do it again,” Sard said.
“But you don’t have to, all you have to do, is let me take it. You’ll be free, then. You won’t have people to neglect.”
“I-”
“Don’t speak,” Sonic said, pressing a shit-covered finger to his lips, “let me handle this.”
Just then, Shadow stood to face Sonic, his one true enemy, “I can’t let you do this,” he said, removing a Colt M1911A1 from his holster, “I’m gonna pop a cap in yo ass,” he said, holding his gun sideways like he was in the slums of Detroit.
“I don’t think so, Fabian, not while I’m still standing, and not while your daughter is held in my secret prison/sex dungeon,” just then, Sonic thought of the little hedglett and grew erect. Some pre-cum leaked and dribbled down his thigh. During this momentary period of distraction, Shadow pounced at him, shouting, “I don’t have a daughter! I’m a homosexual!”
“That’s what you think,” said Sonic, dodging the rash maneuver, “but as a hedge-maphrodite, you got me pregnant when you fucked me as Tristarn!”
Shadow stood there, stumped. He was thinking back to hedgementary school, when he had fucked Sonic for the first time.
“Wait, that doesn’t make sense, female hedgehogs don’t exist, I don’t- wh- huh?” Shadow fell face first onto the floor as his brain overloaded with this new information, “hrmngg…”
“Oh my Allah, Shadow!” Sonic ran to his side. As much as he hated to admit he, Sonic felt he still loved Shadow, and he couldn’t bear to see him in pain (unless inflicted in a sexual manner).
Shadow’s eyes fluttered, and he could barely make out Sonic’s features. Zark was standing off to the side like a scared little kid. He had wet his pants, and he didn’t know what to do. Zark ran over and sat on Shadow’s back, pressing a button which activated the jetpack in his ass. Shadow’s body launched forward, flying towards Sard, whom Zark grabbed, before they blew through the stained-glass window in the back, landing in the courtyard.
“No!” Sonic yelled, “my baby!” But just then, the power of the Muslims overtook him, and he regained his focus on the task at hand. He went to the sublevel of the mosque, and searched for the pig in which the heart of the mosque was kept (they kept it in a pig because then the Muslims wouldn’t be able to touch it without being haram). But Sonic didn’t care, and cut the pig open with a swipe of his buster sword, spilling his entrails and a barnacle-encrusted chest onto the ground. He opened it up, and inside was a still-beating heart, the heart of Hedgy Jones.
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Zark stood, frightened, in the courtyard. He took a glance around at the casinos and hotels surrounding him, not sure of what to do without Shadow. In the distance, he heard what sounded like a little girl laughing.
“Ohhhh, fuck,” he said, immediately recognizing the sound, “or as the Germans would say, scheiße.”
A red tally mark appeared in the corner of his eye.
“You fools! You’ve torn apart my safehaven, stolen the heart, and activated the failsafe,” Sard said.
Zark reached down and grabbed the 1911 off of Shadow. Then he heard groaning coming from one of the casinos, quickly followed by the sight of a man, stumbling out of the door, with yellow, glowing eyes.
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Sonic had just found the ship. The Flying Dutchhedge. It was a sight to behold, but Sonic wasn’t her for sightseeing. He walked onto the deck with all the swagger of a freshly-sodomized porn star and approached the captain, Hedgy Jones.
“You,” he said with a scowl.
“Yes,” Sonic responded, “me. And your little friend here,” he said, pouring the heart onto the deck with a thud.
Hedgy Jones clutched his chest, and spoke again, “How- how did you know?”
“A little hedgy told me,” he said, pointing over to former Indian Mahatma Gandhi, who was a hedgehog and a member of Jones’ crew.
“Gandhi?” Jones asked, “how could you-”
“He could because we’re in love, and nothing will change that now.”
Jones snarled, “what are your terms?”
“Give me the emera-”
“You’re not getting the emerald!” Jones yelled, “unless you kill me and become captain of this ship for eternity.”
“Please, Jones,” Sonic said, slapping his cock onto the heart and thus slapping his cock onto Jones’ muscular body, “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“No, please!” Jones said, “my crew can’t know I’m a raging homosexual!”
“Well then,” Sonic said, “let’s go somewhere a bit . . . more private.”
After finishing inside Jones, Sonic quickly swiped the emerald and was on his way. Jones didn’t have the energy to chase him after Sonic had split him open and threw out his back.
“Finally,” Sonic said as he approached the Lincoln Memorial, the altar at which the chaos emeralds were first created, “I can realize my true power.”
Sonic walked up to the button on Abe’s cock that opened the door to the ritual chamber. Abe’s legs spread apart, and Sonic entered him; swiftly, passionately. He placed the offering, a bag of Scooby Snacks, on the altar, and waited until he heard a resounding rumble throughout the underground chamber.
A massive, muscular man spawned in, and began to speak, “it is I, Parntheon,” Sonic recognized the character from League of Legends, “who summons me?”
“Sorry, Parthy-poo,” Sonic used the pet name he had called Parthenon when they were lovers in the past, “but I’ve finally done it, I’ve retrieved the final chaos emerald!”
Parntheon’s eyes grew wide, but he remained stoic. This was what had caused the tension in their relationship, Sonic had cared more about the emeralds than him, and Parntheon had given him an ultimatum. Him or the emeralds. Sonic had chosen the emeralds.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to do what you’ve always done,” Sonic said, “and engrave those emeralds onto my buster sword.” Sonic presented the weapon, which, similar to Thanos’ infinity gauntlet, had slots for all seven of the emeralds, and only one was currently vacant.
Parntheon picked up the weapon, and gazed at it deeply, “I don’t know if it can handle another,” he said.
“You always could,” Sonic winked at him, and Parntheon smiled.
Suddenly, he had the courage to try.
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They were surrounded. Zark only just now realized his newest assailants were zombies.
Once the security system of The Mosque™ detects an invasion, it turns every single person inside the area (except Sard and the invaders) into zombies, giving Sard a greater chance of protecting the Heart while his assailants fended off the undead.
Zark rushed over to a window and began to board it up, attempting to delay the creatures, however, they were already coming through another window next to him. He took aim and hit the monster with eight shots from his 1911 to the leg, before swiping at it with a knife, killing it. He continued to do this to the beings until a second tally mark was added to his view.
“Zark,” Sard called out, his breathing becoming labored, “you need… you need to complete… the main quest Easter egg… you have to complete it to unlock the Pack-a-Punch and survive…”
Sard died immediately after finishing his sentence. The ground began to shake, and stone-like hands began to claw their way out of it. Fire shot out of the holes, then the hands grabbed his corpse and pulled him down, never to be seen again.
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Sonic just finished inside Parntheon. He felt secure. The only person that maybe could have stopped him before was Shadow, but he gained his power by siphoning it out of the Asians (that’s why so many Japanese kill themselves; no more power), and he had killed every last Asian, at least, every pure breed, and Shadow doubted that the mud-bloods would be of much help to Shadow in the end, anyway.
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“Wha- you’re not staying?”
“I-” he started, “look, Parntheon, I love you, but I have bigger fish to fry. Believe me, I would fuck you again if I had the time, but sadly I have to go conquer the universe with the power of the chaos emeralds,” he gazed over at the sheathed Buster Sword next to their swanky bed, “which . . . you’ve engraved on the sword, correct?”
“Yeah, I- I did, but . . . it’s just, Sonic, I feel like I’m being . . . used by you, for my smithing powers, and I- I just don’t know how much longer we can remain like this.”
“Don’t need to,” Sonic said, hitting Parntheon with a rocket-powered blast of white-hot semen, incinerating his body in a single blow, “damn,” he said, “those emeralds must be acidifying my cum.” He assumed that the radiance of the emeralds near their rightful master had activated some sort of cum-empowering-aura. He smirked, “this’ll do nicely,” he said, cocking his dick like it was a pump-action shotgun.
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An hour had passed. The tally marks had changed to the number 18 to signify they were on the 18th wave of cretins. Zark was on his fifth bottle of PhD Flopper since there was no limit to how many perks one could drink in real life. He knew there had to have been negative side effects and the drink tasted horrible, but he didn’t care because the explosion it caused when he flopped to the ground was cool and he was parched (or as the Germans would say, thirsty as fuck). After finding the final button hidden in the courtyard, the fountain raised out of the ground, revealing the machine underneath.
Zark rushed over and placed Shadow’s 1911 inside, which the machine turned into Mustang & Sally (two 1911s (one for each hand) each loaded with explosive 45 ACP rounds). Zark ran away from the machine before he was overwhelmed by the ghouls. As he got into the open, a massive robot began walking over, lifting its foot above him. He shot the foot multiple times until a door opened, allowing him to go inside it. However, due to his clumsiness, he dropped Mustang and Sally.
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Shadow’s eyes flickered open. His head pulsating with pain.
What the fuck kind of hangover is this.
He looked at his surroundings, seeing all the blood and guts on the floor. He also noticed a massive footprint in the ground.
Fuck.
He picked the Mustang and Sally off the ground, drank each perk soda, and searched for a way to get to Zark. He followed the footsteps, which led to a massive gothic building on a hill. A storm brewed above it, thunder rumbling.
Zarmbies followed him and jumped out at every barrier in front of him. One shot from the pistols knocked out a whole hoard, but they just kept coming. The path dragged on, seemingly growing longer and longer, but Shadow’s bloodlust and desire to finish in Zark again kept him going.
Reaching the front of the building, a big red H lit up on the front. He shivered a little, his PTSD flaring up.
The lobby was in a state of despair, much like Shadow’s home before he was exiled. Remnants of war laid all over. A streak of red liquid ran from behind the desk to the open elevator doors. Shadow knew he couldn’t take the elevators to find Zark, he assumed they wouldn’t work since they were basically scrap metal stuck at the bottom of the shaft.
A door stood on the opposite side of the room, labeled “STAIRS.” Shadow assumed that was the way up.
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The stairs dragged on and upon reaching the 38th floor, Shadow was already tuckered out and wanted this torture to end. By the 46th floor, he was barely dragging himself up the stairs and his breath had basically stopped (hedgehogs are able to stop breathing for up to 2 hours to conserve energy). As he reached the 68th floor, everything looked clean. A Far Cry from the dilapidated-ness of the rest of the building.
The loudest moan in the world echoed out through the halls, and Shadow immediately knows, Zark is here.
Shadow opened the doorway into the floor and wandered down the hall. The lights flickered. Shadow’s heart pounded in his chest harder than he ever had in Zark. At the end of the hallway, a door sat slightly ajar. Shadow entered the room and right in front of him was a hairless ape laid alone in a hospital bed.
“Zark!” Shadow cried out, “What happened to you?”
Zark released a dry cough into the air, “That PhD Flopper drink… I didn’t read the nutrition facts… It had uranium…”
“Well, that shouldn’t have been that bad, right?”
“I drank like six of them.”
“Oh fuck.”
A man stepped out from the corner of the room. His hair slicked back and his mustache looking extremely sexy.
“Ja, leider hat Ihr Freund hier nur noch zwei Wochen zu leben,” the man said to Shadow.
Shadow, having spent most of his life watching languages develop, knew what the man was saying. “Ist das das Beste, was Sie geben können?”
Shadow leaned over the bed, a tear streaming down his cheek, landing in Zark’s eye. Zark’s hand shook as he slowly raised it to Shadow’s and caressed his cheek.
“I will not kiss you… my lips are… too chapped… and faded…”
“It’s okay, honey, you’re strong, you can fight this, you’ll survive.”
“I should’ve… could have been a better son to Mama…”
“No, Mama Hen loves you, you were her perfect son.”
“Don’t… don’t lie to me. If you say… goodbye today… I ask you to be true… because the hardest part of this is leaving you…”
Shadow laid his head on Zark’s chest and bawled his eyes out. Just then, Shadow noticed the heart monitor’s beeping had turned into one long one. He stood up and kissed Zark’s forehead.
“Es tut mir so leid, Sir, meine Berechnungen waren falsch,” the man said.
“I’ll find that blue bastard, and I’ll get revenge for what he did to you. And when you get to Heaven, I’ll be here waiting for you.”
Shadow picked up a letter addressed to Mama Hen and walked out of the room, determined to return to Earth.
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Part Eight: The Return of the Hedgehog
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His skin burned. Hell was supposed to be hot, but Zark couldn’t have prepared himself for this. Walking down the street, Zark couldn’t shake off this feeling of déjà vu. It wasn’t until he got further down did he realize why. A massive sign stood at the side of the road:
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Welcome to Flint, Michigan
Population: ∞
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“G*d dammit. Not again.”
Zark had spent much of his formative years in Flint, which he had determined had contributed to his poor health. He liked blaming the bad things that happen to him on other people to avoid accountability. As he walked into town, he heard drums and other instruments. Down the main street, a large parade ran through the town for all the citizens to “enjoy.” One could say it was a Black Parade. Ignoring it, as Zark didn’t understand the appeal, he continued on through the town, until he made it to what appeared would’ve been a cemetery.
He walked in and saw a man standing over the singular grave in the field. The stone read:
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Zark looked over to the man next to him and asked, “How the fuck do you die in Hell?”
“The authors got sued…”
Zark sighed and walked away. He continued on his way, winding up at the City of Flint Water Plant. Walking inside, Zark discovered vats of lead water (75% lead, 15% water, 10% ???). Sard waded through the vat, carefully, trying his best to treat the untreatable water, it was his eternal punishment from Allah.
“H*ly shit! Sard?”
“Hey! Zark! Long time no see!”
“How’s the food down here? I’m kinda hungry.”
“It is just pork products,” Sard stated, angrily, as his tummy rumbled.
Zark paused for a couple beats and stared at Sard as he thought of a response.
“Welp, that sucks!”
Zark turned away and left. Just then, a bright light shone in the middle of Sard’s vat and he screamed. Zark looked back, then shrugged, deciding to continue to explore the town further.
Further down the street, Zark arrived at exactly what he was looking for. The location of his childhood home. Where it used to be, was now a massive sinkhole. At the bottom of the sinkhole were the remains of his former abode, now used as a campsite for hookers and meth heads.
Disappointed, he attempted to stroll on by without alerting the father-less in The Pit. However, he finally noticed that being in Hell had returned his body to the fat state he was found in at the beginning of this story. The father-less cretins also noticed, as every step he took shook the ground with the force of over 1,000 thermonuclear bombs. They looked up in awe at him.
One “woman” ran up to Zark and kneeled down in front of him.
“You are the most stunning creature I have laid my eyes on, queen. You absolutely slay, girl.”
“Oh, thanks, I guess?” Zark had never been complimented before, “Er, why are you saying this?”
“Well, you’re just absolutely giving. Y’know? You just walk around, being yourself, not letting the fatphobia of the world hold you down.”
“Oh, well, hmm. You know, nobody ever had much nice to say about me while I was living. I think they never really liked me, anyway.”
“That’s because they’re fatphobic pieces of shit, queen. Come, join our colony, you’ll forever feel loved.”
They grabbed Zark’s arm and tried to pull him down to the camp, causing him to lose his balance and roll down into the crater like a boulder. As he rolled, he continued to gain speed, crashing through the main tent and knocking over ten people like bowling pins. He collided with a large piece of concrete and was forced to stop. As he and the ten people laid there, another bright light appeared in front of Zark and pulled all eleven people through it.
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“No one can stop me now,” Sonic said, cumming all over The White House (he made it whiter), “I am all-powerful!” He yelled, loud enough for the current vice president, a reincarnation of Bararck Arbarmar, to hear.
“What do you want?” Bararck yelled up at him.
Sonic smiled, “submission, and your bustiest women waiting for me in my secret room, to be built in Mt. Rarshmar.”
“You know I can’t do that!”
“And you know I can’t pass up the opportunity to jizz the black off a nigger,” he said, redirecting his cum to soak Bararck, who remained stoic in the face of the acidic hedghog fluids.
“Okay, okay!” he said after becoming thoroughly showered, “you can have your brothel in Mt. Rarshmar . . .”
“Yippee!” Sonic yelled, skipping along like he hadn’t a care in the world, “have it ready by this Thursday, won’t you?”
“Sonic,” Bararck said, “it’s Friday . . .”
“Yeah, you’re late already,” he said, squeezing the last bit of splooge from his cock onto Bararck.
“I will . . . go work on that right now,” Bararck said, feeling defeated and submissive to his new hedgehog master, “goddamn hedger-” he added under his breath.
Sonic heard and turned his head sharply: “what was that?” he asked.
“N-nothing, Master Sonic.”
“Uh-huh,” Sonic, who was now massive in stature, swallowed Bararck Arbarmar with his gaping asshole, never to be seen again.
I guess no more brothel, he thought, but damn, that felt good. He felt him wriggle for a minute, then settle down. He thought he might refer to him as “Lemmiwinks.”
He had but one thought on his mind now: total world domination, which he thought would be an easy task. As such, he took to the ongoing Senate discussion on the proposal of foreign aid for Ukraine, Israel, Taiwan and other humanitarian efforts. He used his newfound cum-powers to impersonate Arlarx Pardarllar, a senator from California.
He was now at the meeting.
“The Senate now stands ready to take the next step,” Senate Majority Leader Charck Scharmar said after the house had voted, “our allies across the world have been waiting for this moment, and I assure them the Senate is on the path to pass the same bill soon.”
Sonic turned over to a hot secretary who was taking notes next to him. Nobody had noticed he was a doppelgänger, “I will bet you a crisp 20 dollar bill he calls Ukrainians our ‘brethren’ in the next sentence,” he said, holding out a Jackson to the buxom blonde.
She smiled, “I’ll take you up on that,” she said.
“I hope we will continue to aid our Ukrainian-” Sonic clenched up, “. . . brothers and sisters in their fight for freedom and democracy-”
Sonic looked back to a smug secretary, “c’mon, that’s gotta count-”
She just held out her hand.
“Goddammit-” he gave her a twenty, and they both chuckled.
“. . . I applaud President Barden for-” he stopped and looked back to the distraction, “is something funny back there, Mr. Pardarllar?”
Sonic looked back, cleared his throat, and spoke, “no ma’am- I mean, no sir.” The entire Senate started laughing, and Chark Scharmar’s face grew beet-red.
“I will have you removed from office!” he threatened, but for some reason, Sonic didn’t feel in the slightest bit threatened. President Barden was a hedgehog, after all, and ‘hedges of a feather, flock together.’
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Sonic said, face muscles strained from smiling, “please, continue.”
Charck Scharmar eyed him down, but continued regardless, “I applaud President Barden for reaffirming our commitment in Kyiv today-”
Sonic looked back at the secretary, made a diamond out of his two pointer fingers and thumbs, and placed his face up to the hole, flapping his tongue about as if he was eating her out.
She blushed, and giggled a little, before taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead her to the bathrooms.
As they were on their way out, Charck Scharmar noticed and called after them, “going somewhere, Arlarx Pardarllar?”
“We-”
“No, please, tell me,” Charck was angry that his masculinity had been questioned, as he was intensely insecure, “what is more important than this Senate meeting right now that you absolutely must leave?”
“I’m going to pound some pussy,” Sonic said, before turning back around.
“Sonic, please,” Charck called after him, “this is the United States Senate, we don’t have sex with women.”
“Yeah, just children, right?”
“No, we only groom them- I mean,” he scratched his neck nervously, “no, not children-”
Sonic felt he had won and left. He found out that the girl's name was Mary-Sue and immediately became flaccid, never making true the promise of box eating he had previously given.
He shuffled off, and said to himself, “never making that mistake again . . .”
Sonic’s dick exploded as he reentered the Senate, they had discovered he was a hedger and made sure to cut off his source of power (his peanits). But with his newfound chaos emerald powers, it quickly grew back twice as strong like the heads of the Lernean Hydra (there were now two). They continued blowing his peanits up, hoping to finish him off, but he soon had an impressive crotch of near 20 peoni.
They whirled around like the flail of the Witch King of Angmar from Lord of the Rings, and he swung them through the Senate (they were near 30 feet long!), knocking down every single senator and killing them all with a pre-cum mist.
“That’ll do, Richie,” he said, patting the tip and receiving an affectionate purr in response.
Suddenly, one of the senators sat upright, clenching his stomach as to keep his intestines from spilling out, and spoke, “kill me, Sonic,” he said, “but you will never kill the United States of America!” He started releasing a war cry, but Sonic stifled him with a gag.
“I’ll keep you for later,” he said, using his white-hot cum powers to cauterize his wounds before hog-tying him and slinging him over his shoulder. The senator released a gagged cry for help, but nobody came. Without the legislature, the United States was left up to its existing laws and the Executive Branch to ensure nobody burnt the country down.
But, Sonic reasoned, I doubt that President Biden or his little slave, Arbarmar, will be much trouble for my entropic powers.
Just then, the president burst into the room, took off his white person mask, revealing his true identity: Tails. He spoke to Sonic, hedger to hedger, “Sonic, my brudda,” he said, grabbing his hand and pulling him in for an affectionate embrace, “how do the elements fare you?”
“Quite well, T-Buddy,” Sonic replied, showing off his buster sword engraved with the emeralds and his Hydra cocks, “as you can see.”
“So the plan has worked, then?” Tails asked, beginning to walk to the exit, “come with me, I have a secret layer in the mouth of Lincoln on Mt. Rarshmar.
“Really?” Sonic said, ecstatic that he and his former lover had had the same idea, and even more so that Tails had managed to pull it off.
“Yes,” Tails responded, “and a working lube dispensary, as well as a pot farm, a Jark’s Warbarck Bargars, and a brothel.”
“Is it good kush?” He said, trying to hide his dismay at the mention of that particular casual fine-dining establishment.
“I don’t like to brag, but-” he leaned in, “Snoop Dogg buys from us,” he finished, a thousand-yard smile gracing his countenance.
“That’s impressive.”
After a moment of silence, Tails continued, “so who’s the fellow on your back?” he started, “. . . Senator McCasey?”
“The very same,” said Sonic with a smile, “I thought we might be able to have a little fun with him.”
“Not on my watch,” said Shadow, appearing suddenly and with a vigor, “your reign of terror has gone on long enough, and I want that power for myself,” he said, clutching Sard’s sword, Masamune, which was left behind following his death. It was the only blade capable of cutting hedger flesh, after all. That, plus his freshly kitted Benelli M4, stocked with an extended mag; a holographic scope; and incendiary, hedger-piercing rounds. He cocked it.
“Just what do you plan to do with that?” Sonic asked, smugly. Tails began to approach as well, but Sonic held him back, “you think that little squirt gun can kill me when I have the emeralds?” He unsheathed his swords and his Hyrdrocks, delighting in Shadow’s surprised face, “what’s the matter, Santero? Could you only handle me when I had one?”
“No,” Shadow said, steeling his face and gripping the hilt of Masamune calmly, “I’m just happy that I can do Sard the justice of using his blade to cut down a watery shit like the likes of you.” Sonic’s face instantly fell, and Shadow lunged at him.
The blade almost connected with Sonic’s neck, but he managed to draw his buster sword in time to deflect the blow. Masamune glinted off its edge, and Shadow fell backwards with a graceful leap.
“You’re faster than I remember,” Sonic said, giving Shadow a false sense of confidence. He knew, after all, that all the Asians were dead, and therefore, Shadow had no power. Zark had been the last one, but even now, Zark had fallen too. “But not fast enough,” he added, swinging the buster sword with the grace of a thousand gazelles. But Shadow evaded the attack gracefully, and only suffered a small scratch to his cheek.
He touched the blood and saw the crimson red glisten on the tips of his fingers. He brushed it on his black, hairy chest like warpaint and released a furious battle shout, “you’re a dead man, Sonic!” He gracefully jumped again, and connected the butt of his blade to one of Sonic’s cocks, which had been flailing about for the duration of their encounter. The little peanie was bruised by the attack, and let out a shrill squeal before shriveling up and dying, gracefully. Sonic felt no remorse, however, because he thought that it would grow back.
“What’s the matter?” Shadow asked, noticing that the penis was effectively cauterized.
“N-nothing!” Sonic yelled, swinging wide with the buster sword, gracefully, and narrowly missing Shadow’s rippling pectoral muscles.
Shadow smiled, but felt that his vigor was waning. He didn’t know why, but after Zark had fallen victim to cancer, he had felt nothing but a growing fatigue. He had never grown this attached to someone, and was worried that his hard hedgehog heart had a growing soft spot for the little Muslim. He tried to shove off his feelings of despair, but they showed in his combat.
Just then, Sonic swung quickly with a centripetal force of 734 N and connected with a loop of shit-encrusted hedgehog fur, ripping off a chunk of it and exposing Shadow’s sensitive pink flesh beneath.
Shadow snarled, but his legs faltered, and he stumbled forward before managing to deflect another one of Sonic’s attacks. All he could do then was huddle behind Masamune and attempt to dodge as many of Sonic’s brutal barrage of attacks as he could, but his strength was ever-diminishing.
“Why is this happening . . .” he muttered.
Sonic stopped just short of Shadow’s neck, “what, you seriously don’t know?”
Shadow was silent and bloodied.
“Your source of power,” Sonic lifted Shadow’s chin with the tip of his buster sword, “I’ve killed them all.” A single tear fell from Shadow’s face, and his heart’s suffering came in daunting waves like the ebbs and flows of the Pacific Ocean. Not only was his true love dead, but now all his Asian buddies were too. “You are powerless to me now!” Sonic yelled, raising his blade and planning to bring it down clean through Shadow’s body, splitting him like Shadow had split Sonic, and Zark, and Davy Jones, and Tails . . . all those years ago.
But there was a blinding white light, and suddenly a portal opened and out from it came Sard, screaming and clawing his way out like he was getting birthed again, but the uterus was hot and rancid from years of misuse.
He almost made it out, but suddenly Allah said, “oh, no you don’t!” and used his Muslim powers to drag Sard back into hell where he belonged. But the portal didn’t close, instead out came Zark, who rolled through and crashed into the wall, along with the ten forsaken ghosts from The Pit, who all dispersed from the collision like Jarsy throwing his world-famous bowling pitch.
Sonic was momentarily distracted, and Shadow used this opportunity to jump from his reach and gain consciousness of his surroundings. He saw Zark there, but he was a ghost, and he was back to 600 pounds like when they had first met.
“Zark!” he called out, but to no response, “oh, I know! I likely have to deposit him into his original body, so his ghost can become one with his flesh and he can return to the human world!” He remembered eating Warbarck here once, so he lunged forward to the portal that’s beneath every Warbarck and thought hard of where he wanted to go.
The hospital . . . he thought, praying to hedgehog Jesus (pronounced Hey-Soos) that everything would be okay.
Suddenly, he was there, and he rushed down the hallway with the ghosts in tow, remembering all too well the room Zark had been in.
And there his body was, resting on the bed and slowly being gnawed on by rats. Shadow smacked them all off, and grabbed Zark’s ghost by the neck (naturally, as a hedgehog, he could touch the dead) before jamming him as far as he could into the asshole of Zark’s body.
The strange man was still stood in the corner, watching on as everything happened with a big smirk on his face.
“Oh mein Gott, würdest du dir das ansehen? Der Igel hat herausgefunden, wie er die Toten wiederbeleben kann,” he said, “Das wird für meine Forschung sehr nützlich sein.”
“Hey, Richtofen, got anymore bodies?”
“Nein, es tut mir sehr leid, ich habe gerade meinen letzten Kadaver zerschnitten, um eine Taschengröße zu schaffen.”
“Damn.”
Zark groaned as he slowly sat up in the bed, then weakly stated, “or as the Germans would say...” then passed the fuck out.
Shadow turned to the ten fatherless ghosts around him.
“You guys have any preference on bodies?”
One member of the ground stepped forward and decided to list out all their demands for returning to the land of the living. Shadow didn’t care and spaced out, but he did hear one demand. All they needed was to be able to use drugs still. Shadow could do that AND one better, the motel room from like 40 pages ago still had stashes of drugs hidden all over, so he could get their Asian power upped to at least the amount that was generated by the prisoners of Camp Amache during WWII.
So, Shadow used his super speed to rush to his hotel room, which was covered in dead rats, and put each Asian into a decaying rat body. Afterward, he spread cocaine on the ground like sand at the beach and watched as the Asia-rats rolled around in the stuff, getting so incredibly high that their weak bodies refused to function.
Shadow watched all of this transpire, and chuckled as he watched them writhe with pleasure. Until, that was, Sonic burst into the room and stared at him directly in the eye, “think you could run from me, did you Shadow?” he began pacing around the room, taking note of Zark and the rats, and spoke again, “did you forget that this was the place where we first made love?”
“How did you get here?” Shadow asked.
“That- that’s unimportant,” he responded, “what matters is that I am here now, and you won’t be leaving here alive.”
“Did you take the Warbarck portal?” he asked, scratching his chin in thought, “but that takes you to what you want most-” Shadow stopped dead in his tracks.
Sonic was silent.
“Sonic,” he asked, “do you still . . . love me?”
Sonic was silent.
“Sonic . . ?”
“Yes,” he said, plainly, as if there was no doubt about it.
“I- I don’t know what to say . . .”
“You’ve said enough,” Sonic responded, sighing as a tear fell from his cheek, “by not saying it back.”
“But, Sonic, I-”
Sonic lunged forward to strike Shadow, but the Asian rats made a wall and deflected the blow. As they were all high off cocaine, they didn’t feel pain in their rat bodies.
“You what, Shadow? You love me back?” he asked, pain and sorrow permeating his voice as he drew his buster sword and fired a blade beam (neutral special from Super Smash Bros. Ultimate) into the rat pile, effectively dispelling them, as he knocked them into more cocaine, and they began lapping it up like thirsty dogs.
“So what if I do, Sonic?” Shadow asked, feeling Zark and the rats’ Asian powers course though his blood, “what then?”
“Shadow-”
“Not now, Zark,” Shadow silenced him, “we could never be together,” he said, taking out Masamune and running it across his tongue as to feed it hedgehog blood. Like a bloodhound, it would then search for any and all hedgehogs and kill them. Similar to bullets from white police officers in black neighborhoods. “A reject, banished from society, and the Hedgehog King? They wouldn’t have let us-”
Shadow swung at him, but Sonic dodged, “they didn’t have to know,” he said, “we could’ve loved each other for the rest of our lives in secrecy.”
“Is that even love, Sonic?” Shadow said, “is it love to be ashamed of your partner?”
“But I wouldn’t be ashamed of you, they would be-”
“What then? How would you pass on the Hedgehog Kingdom? Would you marry some harlet and pretend like you love her? Or would you crown an illegitimate child with a freak as prince?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Sonic cried, passionately, “because love triumphs all those problems! They’re insignificant if we’re together!”
“Shadow-”
“Not now, Zark,” Shadow shut him down once more.
Suddenly, Zark gripped his chest and fell to the ground. The cocaine-fueled, fatherless, Asian rats surrounded his body and began licking his fingers, trying to suck all the grease off of it.
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Elarjah sat at his desk, reading a newspaper (it wasn’t actually made with paper due to the fact that all the trees had been cut down already and replaced with plastic replicas). In a very small paragraph, hidden on a centerfold page, it was announced that his good friend and co-author, Jarsy, was murdered. By a hedgehog.
Elarjah knew exactly what to do. He went to his bookshelf and removed the Narcronarmicon, a mysterious book, lost for generations, that he found at an estate sale in 2018. He opened up Twitter and made 20 posts calling for protests over how his friend was killed and nobody cared. This sparked massive controversy and government response. NArSA announced that they would be sending a group of people from Jarsy’s hometown to the recently discovered planet, Morbius, to get revenge for Jarsy.
Elarjah would’ve loved to have gone, but he had something more important to do. Arriving at the Warbarck Barger, in his finest robes, holding the Book of the Darmned, he made his way to the top secret second basement, underneath the portal room. This room had direct access to Purgatory, exactly where Jarsy went since his good and bad traits balanced out to make him a “just ok” guy.
He sat down at a desk and began to read from the book. The incantations inside were supposed to rip open the fabric at weakpoints in the universe, allowing for the real world to access the afterlife. After he finished reading, not much happened. Disappointed, Elarjah closed the book and began to get up, but then the wall broke open, shining a bright yellow light on the room.
Through the hole in the wall, Jarsy stepped out, a changed man. He only had one thought on his mind.
“We need to kill Sonic the Hedgehog.”
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Shadow knelt over Zark’s body, smacking his head back and forth, trying to wake him up. After forty minutes of this, Zark’s eyes opened, and he quickly sat up.
“Owie,” he said calmly, rubbing his bruised cheeks.
“Zark, I need you to take this,” Shadow scooped a pile of cocaine up off the floor and shoved it down his throat, “it makes your Asian powers stronger.”
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If you’d like Zark and Shadow to live the rest of their lives together challenging interracial marriage, turn to page: 64
If you’d like Shadow to abandon Zark and pursue a passionate life of lovemaking with Sonic, turn to page: 68
If you’d like Zark to be a little bitch and run from his problems to return to Arnyar, his adulterous lover, turn to page: 71
If you’d like the canonical ending, turn to page: 75
If you’d like a bonus, AI-generated ending, turn to page: 78
“Good thinking,” Zark said, relieved that Shadow cared for his wellbeing. He had felt powerless before the two hedgehogs, and had worried that they would forget about him altogether and start fucking while he watched in horror, “where is-” then he saw it (he didn’t consider black peoplehedgehogs people). Sonic. It was beautiful, and he could see his hedge-cock poking through his fur, the tip gently poking its nose out into the cold world. He wanted to be the warm set of arms to caress it as it was born onto his asshole.
“Zark . . ?” Shadow asked, following his frozen gaze to Sonic’s member, “oh,” he said.
“Y’know, Shadow,” Sonic said, lowering his blade momentarily, “we could have a three-way.”
“No,” Zark and Shadow said, together, realizing, then, their undeniable rapport. Shadow continued, “I realized after seeing Zark’s life drain from his body that I-” he gripped the hilt of his blade tightly and steeled his resolve, “I would fight any demon to keep him safe.”
Just then, Zark stood and looked Sonic in the eyes, “I didn’t want to do this, Shadow,” he said, “but I know how we can defeat him.” Zark then flashed Sonic his disgusting man-tits, and Sonic’s face melted off of his skull like the two goobers in Raiders of the Lost Ark.
“Huh,” Shadow said, suckling on the nipples that had just saved him. They squirted a little milk in his mouth (as Zark was now pregnant with a hedge-hybrid, he produced milk), and Shadow swallowed it before speaking, “I don’t understand why he was so grossed out by these,” he gave them a healthy squeeze, “anyway,” Shadow said, “let’s get going.”
They went away from that place, then, setting off a few remote explosives to destroy Mt. Rarshmar once and for all. Only afterward did they realize that it was definitely an act of terrorism. But they didn’t really care. All they wanted to do was have passionate intimacy and live the rest of their lives together.
First, however, they had to fight to legalize interspecies hedgehog-human marriage.
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Shadow pulled up to the hospital, reading the billboard outside that said,
“Karaoke Night!
7/34/2123
Be there or be a cunt!”
He chuckled as he remembered that not only had they changed the legal meaning of “cunt” to “person who is unpopular,” but they had also erased December from the year and dispersed the days into the remaining 11 months. A distant relative of Jar Barden (his name was Harntar or something) had decided that the month as a whole was too inflammatory. Christmas was actually turned into “Floyd-mas” after their martyr, George Floyd (who, once again, was indeed a hedgehog), but even that wasn’t enough to satiate leftist activists on Twarter’s (formerly Xar (formerly Twarter)), desire for what they called “gayperations.” As a result, they got rid of the month entirely, and people like Barn Sharparar were burned at the stake after he, and many like him, said, “our nigger president is jizzing affirmative action into the boy pussies of American citizens,” on his podcast, The Barn Sharparar Shawr.
Regardless, he stepped into the hospital, and walked up to the room where he knew Zark was. He had been there, after all, for the past 32 years, as the life expectancy was now around 150. Shadow wished it wasn’t. Nothing but pain and sadness had come from their conquest against interspecies marrying, but despite all the progressive thinking of today’s age, people just really didn’t like hedgehogs.
Shadow knelt down beside Zark’s deathbed, and began caressing his hand.
After a moment, he spoke, “well,” Shadow said, coughing, since he was now nearing death of old age, “we gave it our best shot.” They had spent the better part of almost ten decades in various courtrooms, arguing that humans should be able to love any creature that they so wish. But people were super racist, and tried to haze them 12 or 13 times, depending on your definition. Shadow fended them off with Masamune, but he was growing senile and sometimes accidentally hit innocent bystanders now.
“Yeah,” Zark said, on his deathbed. He had gained the weight back and more, after eating to stifle the feelings of despair, “but we didn’t win.” His heart thumped, and the nurse added additional morphine. Zark hummed in pleasure.
“I hate seeing you like this,” Shadow said, caressing the back of Zark’s hand, which was now covered in wrinkles. The statement was true, but Shadow found himself happy. New advancements in technology made it possible to keep people whose bodies are one Imparssible Party away from shutting down alive pretty much indefinitely. Back in the day, Zark would have been dead years ago (I cannot express just how fat he has gotten, literally he’s like 1200 or more pounds of pure fat). All he does is eat. 24/7, 12 months a year, he’s stuffing his face with the most calorie-dense comestibles he can happen by. And it’s made even worse, too, because Quaker Oats released a “Black Hole Bar” a couple years ago that has an entire year’s worth of calories in it. He packs those back like beers at a ball game. He had a box next to him right now, actually, and he had just peeled open his fifteenth bar of the day (it was 7:32 A.M.).
“Zark, please-”
“What?” he yelled, food flying from his mouth and shit flying from his ass, “you don’t find me attractive anymore, Shadow?”
“No,” Shadow said, “it’s not that, it’s just-” he stopped, and knelt down at the foot of the bed, “I just don’t know how to help you anymore.”
“Maybe I don’t want help, Shadow, have you ever thought about that?”
“Yes,” he responded, “you’ve made it abundantly clear-”
“Good,” Zark chuffed, “now go get me some food.”
“. . . what do you want?”
“Go!” Zark screamed, and Shadow scurried out of the room. This was their life now.
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Shadow thanked the Chinese man as he grabbed the astonishingly large amount of kung pao chicken. He had assured the man that it wasn’t just for one person, and they had laughed. It would be ridiculous for one person to eat 893 orders, right?
Well, that’s where he was heading . . . back to Zark, and back to a life of abuse and broken promises. He stopped for a moment as a billboard caught his eye; it was a handsome young hedgehog with a tight body and a noticeable bulge. Shadow sighed. He couldn’t do that to Zark, not after everything they had been through together.
But, a part of him thought, if only I could have one night . . . No! He would not be like his father, Abrahedge Lincoln, whom he considered the worst thing to ever happen to America.
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He knocked on the door to Zark’s hospital room. He couldn’t understand him, but he heard something like an aggressive growl from inside, and presumed Zark to be halfway into another bar.
But then he saw him.
Laying on Zark’s hospital bed (which struggled to hold his weight), and submerged in a pool of shit, piss, and food crumbs was the limp, lifeless, 1200 pound body of Zarckary Harssarn. There were claw marks on his throat, and his fat sausage arms seemed to be prying at his lifeless neck.
Shadow walked to Zark’s side, mortified yet feeling a twinge of excitement flutter in his stomach. He peered into the gaping hole that Zark had called a mouth, and saw 18 black hole bars (approximately 1,314,000 calories), which he had presumably attempted to eat all at once. There were also two bars clogging his nose, one per nostril, and the damn things, dense as dying stars, had clogged his already-struggling throat (due in part to Shadow’s member), and Zark’s little heart had failed after just three seconds of not receiving oxygen from his CPAP machine.
Shadow burned down the hospital, and released a sigh of relief.
He was free.
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* * *
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Zark tried to swallow the approximate 1-by-1 square meter of cocaine Shadow tried to shove down his throat, but he couldn’t manage.
He started weeping uncontrollably, and spoke through stifled cries, “I-I just-”
“Yes!” Shadow cried, lifting him up, “that’s it, Zark, breathe!”
“No!” Zark yelled for the first time since before “The Incident” (when the infidel Arnyar had sodomized herself by bedding Barn Smarth on the day of her and Zark’s wedding).
“Zark, baby?”
“Shadow, I-” he couldn’t articulate his words. Whether he couldn’t, or simple did not want to, he did not know. But he knew his heart was being wrenched from his gut, and he knew that he could not stomach this life any longer.
So, Zark ran away, as fast as his pudgy little ham shank legs could carry him, and never bothered to look back at the ruined hedgehog he had left behind.
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Zark slumped down and cupped his head in his hands. His life had all but fallen apart. He had found that he lacked the strength within himself to live with this explosive personality that was Shadow. He laid there for a while, simmering in his remorse and regrets of having such a life unfulfilled, such a life damned by fate and rejected by prosperity.
“Hey,” a small voice uttered towards him.
He didn’t answer, he didn’t even hear the person.
“It’s me, Zark,” she said, “it’s Arnyar.”
He blacked out.
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“Zark,” she said, “Zark, wake up . . .” she placed a gentle kiss on his lips, and his eyes fluttered awake.
“W-what?” He was strapped to the bed and handcuffed, completely naked. Arnyar was dominant. She inserted a Bard Drargon brand marital aid into his anus, which had previously been stretched by Shadow. He was barely able to withstand the full 12 inches (3 inch diameter), but he was astonishingly stretchy, and his asshole eventually adjusted to a new equilibrium after the increased supply of cock.
“Arnya-” she stopped him from speaking.
“Zark,” she said, holding his hands gently, “Zark . . . I- I’m sorry for all that happened, and . . . and I just want us to restart,” she looked him in his red eyes (he was a demon for the cum), “can we do that?” she asked, “. . . please?”
“Arnyar, I-”
She kissed him, and he stopped talking, “Zark,” she said, “I- I can explain,” a tear fell from her cheek, “I never meant to hurt you, Zark. I- it wasn’t my decision- I’m not trying to say it’s not my fault, but, you have to understand, that-”
“What, Arnyar?” he was fully awake now and was beginning to grow angry and aroused, “what could possibly justify what you did to me?”
“It’s Barn Smarth, Zark!” she screamed with passion, “he- he’s a hedgehog, and I was scared that if I didn’t fulfill his sexual desires, he would,” she gulped, and tears began flowing freely from her eyes, “I was scared that he would kill me . . .” she whispered.
“Arnyar,” he saw her crying, and stifled his growing rejections regarding the factuality of her account. He still cared about this woman, and no matter how much she may have hurt him, there was a part of his heart that would always be reserved for loving her, “I- I believe you, Arnyar, and- and . . . I still love you.”
“It’s okay, Zark,” she said, “we can go back to what we were,” she kissed him, “we can pretend that none of this ever happened.”
And so they did.
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* * *
Zark huffed up all the cocaine, then began coughing, spewing white powder all over the room.
“Oh my fucking God! You’re actually useless!” Shadow began screaming in Zark’s face.
“What?” Zark said as tears began to well in his eyes.
“NO! You shut up when I’m talking! I. Am. Tired of you! You just sit there and do nothing! You cry your eyes out at the slightest inconvenience. YOU ARE AN INCONVENIENCE!”
Zark started bawling his eyes out.
Shadow turned to Sonic, “I’m sorry. I ran away because I was tired of being a sub for you. I wanted to try being a dom, but after spending all this time with him, I’m done with being a dominatrix. He is the worst kind of submissive ever. I want you back, Sonic, please, I’ll do whatever.”
Zark started hyperventilating, “Shadow, please!”
“No,” Shadow stated, plainly, he was done with Zark’s whiny bullshit, “no. You don’t deserve me, Zark, and you never have. I guess I’m just finally realizing that. Fuck you, Zark, I never want to see your disgusting body again.”
“Sha-”
Sonic stepped in, “shall we dispose of him, lover?” he asked. He was giddy that Shadow had made this decision, it was, after all, what he had always wanted.
“No,” Shadow said, “I think it’d be more torturous if he has to live to watch us love each other.” They made love, right there, in Mount Rarshmar, and Shadow allowed Sonic to finish inside him, just as he had in Zark so many times.
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Suddenly, Jarsy and Elarjah burst into the room, both wielding shotguns loaded with hedgeshot. Jarsy took aim and blew the head right off of Sonic, splattering gold rings all over Shadow and Zark. Shadow screamed bloody murder. Zark sat, frozen, in shock.
Shadow’s eye started twitching and his scream of pain slowly turned into a scream of anger, as he turned his attention to Elarjah, who got distracted by all the shiny things on the ground. He jumped up, lunging at Elarjah, trying to kill him, but Elarjah snapped back to attention, raised his shotgun, and blew the head off of Shadow.
“That was a lot easier than I expected,” Elarjah said to Jesse, scratching the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” Jarsy pouted, “I didn’t even get to use the mustard gas, do you know how much that costs?” (Jar Barden significantly increased the price of Mustard Gas ingredients after the Great Middle School Gas Riots in 2028 (the riots were actually about gasoline, like for cars)).
“Well, what do we do now?”
“We could start a band, I guess.”
“Yeah, why not.”
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Zark sat in the living room, sipping on a cup of coffee. He set the cup down and picked up his phone, opening Twartter (formerly Xar (formerly Twartter)). The entire internet was freaking out because the greatest rock band in the world, Elarsy, had decided to go their separate ways after eight years together due to “creative differences.”
Zark chuckled, “that’s what you get for killing my lover.”
He heard the stairs creaking and looked over to see Barn Smarth walking down, followed by Larciarn, and finally Arnyar.
“Have a good time, guys?”
“The absolute best,” the three said in unison.
“Great to hear,” Zark sighed.
“Oh, by the way, Zarky-poo, we need a new bed, can you go out and purchase another?” the three continued to speak in unison.
“Sure.”
Zark stood up and walked through the glass sliding door and looked over his backyard, full of dead grass. He walked back towards the rear fence, standing over a small stone on the ground.
Here Lies Shadow the Hedgehog
Lover, Fighter, and Saviour
“Maybe in another ending,” Zark sighed, kneeling down and placing a hand on the marker.
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* * *
Zark removed a metal, reusable straw from his pocket. He placed one end of the straw in his mouth, and the other in the brick of white powder, then began sucking. The cocaine entered his throat and was quickly absorbed by his body. Each speck of white powder attached itself to his blood cells, finally finishing the connection that Shadow had needed around page 17. Zark had finally reached the max potential of his Asian and Muslim abilities, or as the young’ins would say, he was going “super saying.”
Zark’s hair fell out, landing on the floor with a bright golden colour. His weight increased 400x to really show the amount of power stored inside of him. His eyes lit up a bright blue, then his clothes were replaced with a robe covering his below average parts.
“No! No! It can’t be possible! I made sure Buddha couldn’t return centuries ago!” Shadow’s stiff demeanor had faltered.
Zark raised his fist, creating eight copies of himself, all of which started pummeling Sonic like bullies trying to take his lunch money.
“Please,,, spare me… I beg,” Sonic’s nearly lifeless body laid on the ground, reaching his arm out towards Zark and Shadow.
Zark lifted his other hand and snapped, causing Sonic to turn to dust and fade into oblivion, then lowered both of his hands, causing the copies to vanish.
Suddenly, Jarsy and Elarjah burst into the room, both wielding shotguns loaded with hedgeshot. Jarsy took aim and blew the head right off of Shadow, splattering gold rings all over Zark.
“NOOOOOOO!” Zark cried out, raising both hands to his face. Zark made a mobility scooter appear beneath him and rolled over to Shadow’s headless corpse. He lowered his hand to Shadow’s shoulder, causing himself to fall out of the scooter, then whispered, “I will fix all of this, mon amour.”
Zark strained, like a toddler trying desperately to shit its pants to prove a point, but then everything stopped. Dust in the air stayed in one place. Jersey and Elarjah stood motionless, both staring at the train wreck on the floor. Then, the room started spinning, faster, faster, faster, until it all went dark. Zark was left in nothingness, and all he could do was close his eyes.
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The alarm rang on his phone. Zackary Thaer Hassan opened his eyes and stretched. He lifted the blankets off of himself and stepped onto the floor, placing his feet into the two pink bunny slippers, carefully placed next to his bed. He picked his phone off the nightstand, turning off the alarm, and opened the messages app to the text messages with his girlfriend, Aine.
“Good morning, my love!” he sent her, followed by three of Apple’s Memojis, specifically the boar with heart eyes.
“Hi,” she replied.
Zack took his phone in both hands and hugged it against his chest, he was absolutely enamoured with this woman and nothing could change that.
He made his way to the kitchen for breakfast and was greeted by his loving mother, who placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of him.
“Oh, thank you, my wonderful mother, I love you!”
She placed a light kiss on his forehead before leaving for work.
Zack lapped up his breakfast, then grabbed his backpack and ran out to his 2005 Ford Focus (manual transmission by the way). He plugged his phone into the aux and began playing “Sneaky Snitch” by Kevin MacLeod, his current favorite song.
Upon arriving at the school, Zack PROMPTLY leaves his motor vehicle and moves over to Aine’s car, where the two “just chat” about some bullshit. As the clock strikes 7:38, the two arrive in the school, where Zack goes through some of the most boring classes in his life, except for his 2nd class which has the people in his friend group that make his life enjoyable. At 12-o’clock, Zack arrives in the lunchroom and sits with his friends, Timothy, Bailen Smargiassi, Shaun, Aine, Saad, Jesse, and Elijah. These people are the only joy in his life, as he is a terrible person. Timothy passes out cards as the group plays his game, Suits. Zack is already out as he makes nothing but poor decisions, Jesse is also out (due simply to bad luck, and not due to any supposed lack in skill) and is now playing Bloons Tower Defense 6 on his AT&T Radiant Max 5G.
Bailen calls four spades and Saad looks at the two clubs in his hand and shouts, “fuck no,” challenging the call.
“Guys, Mamma Mia starts tomorrow night. I hope everything goes alright,” Zack says, stupidly.
Suddenly, the ground starts shaking and Allah shouts, “You’re not getting away that easily!” Stone hands reach out of the ground and grab Saad by the legs. Saad starts screaming as he’s pulled through the ground, into Flint, Michigan.
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FIN.
Or as the Germans would say…
It’s finally fucking over.
Part Nine: Hedgilogue
The sun dipped below the jagged peaks of Mount Rarshmar, casting a warm glow on Zark and Shadow as they stood hand in hand. Their journey had been nothing short of epic—a tale woven with danger, sacrifice, and unwavering devotion.
Zark, the daring warrior with eyes like molten gold, had faced hordes of zombies, his sword slicing through decayed flesh. Shadow, the enigmatic sorceress with midnight hair, had conjured protective spells to shield them from Narzis’ venomous arrows. And when the Marslims—those elusive extraterrestrial beings—descended upon them, Zark and Shadow fought side by side, their love a beacon of defiance against the odds.
Now, atop Mount Rarshmar, they gazed out at the world below. The valley stretched before them, lush and green, a testament to their resilience. Zark’s battle-worn armor gleamed in the fading light, and Shadow’s robes billowed in the breeze.
The air crackled with magic as Zark and Shadow faced their adversaries. The Marslims, their iridescent skin shimmering, hovered above, firing energy bolts. The zombies, relentless and rotting, clawed their way up the mountain. And the Narzis, cunning shape-shifters, blended seamlessly into the rocky terrain.
Zark swung his sword, each stroke a testament to his determination. His blade met the Marslims’ energy blasts, deflecting them back with a blinding flash. Shadow chanted incantations, her hands tracing intricate patterns in the air. A protective barrier formed around them, shielding them from the Narzis’ arrows.
But the zombies surged forward, their moans echoing through the valley. Zark cleaved through their ranks, his armor splattered with decayed flesh. Shadow’s fireballs incinerated the undead, but more kept coming.
“We can’t hold them off forever,” Zark grunted, sweat pouring down his face.
“We must,” Shadow replied, her eyes ablaze. “Our love is our strength.”
And then, the ground trembled. From the heart of Mount Rarshmar, a fissure split open, revealing a cavernous maw. Out poured a torrent of molten lava, consuming zombies and Narzis alike. The Marslims screeched, their bodies dissolving in the heat.
Zark and Shadow clung to each other, their love a shield against the inferno. They stepped onto a narrow ledge, the lava raging below.
“This is it,” Zark said, his voice fierce. “Our final stand.”
Shadow nodded. “Together.”
They faced the remaining Marslims, their combined magic creating a tempest. Lightning crackled, wind howled, and the very earth quaked. The Marslims screamed, their forms disintegrating.
But just then, Sard, with eyes like fractured galaxies, descended atop Mount Rarshmar. His silver robes billowed, and his staff crackled with forbidden energy. As the Marslims’ leader, he had orchestrated their invasion, seeking dominion over Earth.
Zark and Shadow faced him, their love a shield against Sard’s malevolence. Zark’s sword clashed with Sard’s staff, sparks igniting the air. Shadow’s spells weaved intricate patterns, unraveling Sard’s defenses.
“Your reign ends here,” Zark growled.
But Sard laughed—a sound like collapsing stars. “Love is a weakness,” he sneered. “You’ll see.”
Their battle raged, shaking the mountain. Sard summoned cosmic storms, hurling Zark and Shadow across the peak. But their bond held firm.
And then, a voice echoed—a whisper from the void. “Enough.”
Allah, the ancient cosmic being, descended. His form blazed with celestial fire.
“Sard,” Allah intoned, “your arrogance blinds you. Love is the essence of creation—the very fabric of existence.”
Sard’s defiance wavered. “I seek power!”
“And you shall have it,” Allah said. “A power beyond your grasp.”
He raised his hand, and the ground split open. Flames erupted—a chasm to the heart of existence.
Sard screamed as Allah’s grip tightened. “No!”
And with a cosmic pull, Allah dragged Sard into the fiery abyss. His silver robes dissolved, his eyes fading.
“Remember,” Allah whispered, “love transcends all.”
The chasm sealed, leaving only Zark, Shadow, and the memory of Sard’s folly.
And then, silence. The battle was won.
Zark and Shadow collapsed, their bodies bruised and battered. But they were alive. Their love had defied death once more.
As the sun rose over Mount Rarshmar, they kissed—a promise of eternity. The zombies turned to ash, the Narzis vanished, and the Marslims’ memory faded like stardust.
And so, atop the world, Zark and Shadow stood. Their love had triumphed over all—the undead, the cosmic, and the treacherous.
Hand in hand, they descended from Mount Rarshmar, leaving behind a battlefield transformed into a garden. For in their hearts, they knew: Love was the ultimate magic.
“We did it,” Zark whispered, his voice rough from countless battles. “We survived it all—the undead, the traitors, the cosmic invaders.”
Shadow leaned into him, her eyes reflecting the colors of the setting sun. “Our love was our greatest weapon,” she murmured. “It defied death, transcended realms, and forged a bond stronger than any magic.”
They kissed, their lips tasting of victory and eternity. The wind whispered secrets of forgotten civilizations, and the stars above winked knowingly.
“What now?” Zark asked, brushing a strand of hair from Shadow’s face.
“Now,” she said, “we build a new world. One where love is the foundation, where swords and spells are replaced by compassion and understanding.”
And so, as the first stars blinked into existence, Zark and Shadow pledged to protect their love—the most potent force in the universe. Hand in hand, they descended from Mount Rarshmar, leaving behind a legacy that would echo through time. For in their hearts, they knew: Love would always triumph over darkness.
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Sonic stared out onto the battlefield, noticing the destruction and dismaying as he realized that Allah had sent his diamond force of Narggers to kill him after Allah had realized that he was the one who had caused the destruction to Mount Rarshmar, Allah’s favorite brothel.
Sonic stood on the blood-soaked battlefield, surrounded by the relentless Narggers. His once-shining armor was now battered and stained, and his sword felt impossibly heavy in his trembling hand. The venom from their barbed tails had seeped into his veins, weakening him with every heartbeat.
His comrades lay fallen around him, their lifeless eyes staring up at the darkening sky. Sonic’s breaths came in ragged gasps, and he knew this was it—the end of a long and arduous journey.
The Narggers closed in, their grotesque forms casting eerie shadows on the ground. Their eyes glowed with malevolence, and their hissing voices echoed in Sonic’s mind. “You fought well, little knight,” they taunted. “But your valor means nothing now.”
Sonic’s vision blurred as he raised his sword one last time. He thought of his family, his village, and all the lives he had sworn to protect. But the poison had spread too far. His muscles failed him, and the blade slipped from his grasp, sinking into the muck.
The Narggers lunged, their fangs sinking into Sonic’s flesh. Pain shot through him, but he welcomed it—the final release from a world that had grown darker with each battle. As his consciousness faded, he glimpsed the faces of his fallen friends, their spirits rising from their broken bodies.
“Rest now,” they whispered. “Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”
And so, Sonic closed his eyes, surrendering to the venom’s icy grip. The Narggers feasted on his dying form, their victory complete. But somewhere beyond the veil of pain, he heard a distant melody—a song of courage and resilience that would echo through the ages.
For even in defeat, Sonic had become a legend—a symbol of unwavering valor against insurmountable odds. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, the world mourned the loss of its hero.
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* * *
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