Randolf the Conqueror, Ruiner of Worlds, Bringer of Shadows and Lord of Rabbit-Like Kind stared down the barrel of the female human's magical block and snarled. He saw the face of his father gazing at him from the distant past, remembering the days when he was just a young thing. His father, the Uniter of Rabbit-Like Kind, hated failure, and despised weakness even more so. His love was tougher than the meat of an aged human, but its fiery pressure moulded Randolf into a Conqueror, Ruiner of Worlds, Bringer of Shadows and Lord of Rabbit-Like Kind.

And so he stared into the shadowy hole of death and dared it to spit fire, to spew its magical orange streak, and to just try knock him from the side of the great beast.

But it never did.

From behind the female human arose Filder the Fast and Sly and Always Wise, drenched ears to tail in dust-coated blood, with a blazing fire dancing in her wild black eyes. She bounded onto the arm of the female human and bit deep, slashing down on her wrist with a clawed paw.

Next, Barolf, Wielder of Many Strengths, was beside Randolf the Conqueror, Ruiner of Worlds, Bringer of Shadows and Lord of Rabbit-Like Kind, nodding at him slowly to speak the thousand unneeded words that said the deed was done, and it was time to deed some more.

In perfect synchronicity, the two rabbit-like warriors forced themselves up the last remaining distance to the top of the great beast and dove for the male human and his hellfire stick, before he could turn it on them. He squealed pathetically, a high-pitched cowardly bawl, as tiny little fangs and tiny little claws dug into his skin, clawed at his clothes and bit into his eyeballs. In those same moments, the female human had dropped her magical block and was trying desperately to clamber from her scaled nest and flee down the side of the beast, but Filder the Fast and Sly and Always Wise was fast, sly and wise, not allowing her the opportunity. When the female human put her hand on the beast's hide to climb over, fangs were there to tear away her fingers. When she tried putting a foot over instead, claws were there to sneak up her trouser leg and slash at her calves. And, finally, when she tried to dive head-first off the side, she was allowed to - and she broke her neck by the beast's round, black feet.

Randolf the Conqueror, Ruiner of Worlds, Bringer of Shadows and Lord of Rabbit-Like Kind plunged his bloodied fist into the human's last remaining eyeball, feeling it burst around his claws. Meanwhile, Barolf, wielding many strengths, dragged a sharp claw along the wailing throat of the human, prying it open so that blood could flow freely. He dug into the crimson meat below until he felt windpipe, and that too he opened.

Soon the human was drowning in his own blood, gargling and spitting and coughing and spluttering, collapsing into his nest while his stick of death lay dormant. Randolf the Conqueror, Ruiner of Worlds, Bringer of Shadows and Lord of Rabbit-Like Kind rose his fist in triumph, his companions doing the same. He smiled wide, proud in their great victory, but the day was not through. The beast's humans had been eradicated, but the grentuputron monster itself remained.

But how to destroy such a mighty, armoured creature? Randolf the Conqueror, Ruiner of Worlds, Bringer of Shadows and Lord of Rabbit-Like Kind thought then, of the hollow skull this strange creature had. How its very brain seemed designed to be viewed by humans, to be touched and prodded and manipulated.

Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult after all...

* * *

The storm was losing enthusiasm, but the bad man hitting Meatsack wasn't. All around him, Stormy's winds slowed their ferocious energy, dulled their manic howling, and Windy's father seemed to be coming to the end of his untamed mad destruction. But Meatsack could take no joy in such simple pleasures, for the bad man wouldn't let him go.

He felt weak and tired, his neck pulsating with an awful, hideous pain the likes of which Meatsack hadn't felt since he was a child. He would try to run, wobbling to his feet and making it a few steps before the bad man would catch him up and trip him, or strike him in the back of the head with his pipe. And Meatsack would fall back to the ground, tears welling in his wide eyes, feeling helpless and mewing for Berty to come save him. But she never appeared, and the bad man was always there.

Meatsack swung his thick arm out in defence, wildly missing and upsetting his balance. He felt so woozy and sick, like he'd drunk too much of Bert's happy grog, but also like someone was stomping on his head, probably because someone was. He saw spots over his eyes and tried to rub them, but couldn't because of his goggles. In an almost delirious state, he thought of removing the lenses so he could get at them, but Berty said to never take them off in a bad storm and he felt fearful for breaking her rules.

So Meatsack shook his head and placed his big arm on the ground, pushing, trying to get up again. He was a few inches up when a muddy boot swung in from the left and caught him in the side of the head, sending him back to the dirt again.

Everything was sore.

Everything was sad.

He sniffled, and the bad man kicked again.

Now came the sound of laughter, finally audible over the waning orchestra of the storm. It was low, long and completely sinister. It rolled out of the mouth dripping with poison, a laughter less of fun, but more of satisfaction. Of a hideous job well done, a desperate need being fulfilled. It circled Meatsack like a wolfcat waiting to strike. It relished in every second of the hunt, taking no hurry in the miserable art of what it was doing. It was a laugh of pure evil, in Meatsack's ears.

But to Meatsack, laughter was for fun. It was for nice thing. It was when two people were happy. When two people enjoyed what they were doing together, like hugging, dancing, or mopping blood off the floor. It was fo-

-a boot came down on the back of Meatsack's head and pushed his face painfully into the dust and rocks below. Pain swept through his large body greater than before. The big giant felt his heartbeat pulsing in his brain, each pump causing him to wince and whimper.

Then the laughter wafted through the air again.

It wasn't right.

Meatsack wasn't having fun.

The bad man shouldn't be laughing.

Laughter was for nice people.

This wasn't nice.

This wasn't fun.

No.

No it wasn't.

Not for Meatsack.

The angry bad man with the dark face and black clothes crouched down near Meatsack, smiling. This wasn't right. He shouldn't be smiling. Smiling was for happy occasions, like when you help people, not hurt them.

Meatsack ... felt mad.

"Time to die, you ugly monster," came the bad man's darkened voice.

Meatsack couldn't take anymore. A dam burst somewhere in his innocent mind and out flooded the red mists of chaos. Meatsack lashed out with his massive arm, smacking it into the bad man's chest and flinging him across the dirt as though he were a trivial little bitefly. The bad man groaned loudly as he crashed into the ground far from where he started, rolling a couple of times before coming to a messy stop.

Breathing hard, now, Meatsack rose slowly to his feet, swaying as his balance threatened to collapse. Both of his eyes fell sharply on the bad man, aiming the same direction for the first time in years. Meatsack stomped slowly towards him, sweat pouring from his bruised grey skin, his breath coming out in heavy, untamed sighs. His fingers, both large and small, curled into tight fists, digging their nails into his palms. Every muscle in Meatsack's giant body bulged as though inflated like balloons, thick blue veins popping on his big arm and on his forehead.

This man was evil.

He hurt people.

He laughed at it.

Evil. Evil. Evil.

The bad man roared something at Meatsack, but he no longer processed the words. He lashed out with his big hand just in time to catch the bad man's sudden attack. Meatsack's thick fingers curled around both the pipe and the man's hand, crushing them with all his immense strength. The bad man screamed loudly, hurting Meatsack's ears, but he didn't let go. He felt hard things snapping in the palm of his hand, heard the crying of metal as it bent under the pressure. Little bits of something moved and cracked and shrunk in the hand of the bad man. He tried to beat Meatsack over the head with his stump hand, but compared with the beatings from earlier, the grey giant barely so much as noticed it.

The man screamed louder.

Meatsack gripped tighter.

More hard things snapped. He heard little cracks and pops; the same grotesque, meaty sounds that came from the kitchen when Phoenix had caught an animal to serve. He thought of Phoenix, humming his happy tunes as he worked, Bert hovering by the passover window chatting lightly to him. He thought of them smiling and laughing together, enjoying their daily work. They were like parents to Meatsack. One the loving mother, one the hard but fair father. He loved them both so much it hurt his big heart.

Meatsack suddenly let go, realising how much he was hurting another person. He recoiled away as the bad man pinged in the other direction, staring at the blood and cuts covering his wide hand as one of his eyes rolled lazily in the other direction, no longer focused. The bad man fell to the ground in a ball and cried loudly, clutching his broken hand by his breast, the pipe now jammed into it at multiple horrible angles. He scuffled his boots on the ground, pushing himself away from Meatsack as blood poured from his hand.

Meatsack held his small arm to his face, big tears welling once more in his eyes. He'd gotten mad. He wasn't meant to get mad. He'd hurt someone just like Berty said not to. He whimpered softly, wishing Berty were here, not knowing what to do. He watched in panicked indecision as the bad man kept crawling away, his face twisted in a way a face shouldn't be twisted, his hand a mangled mess of flesh and bone.

A woman's voice cried out nearby, and it sounded like Bert. It sounded like she was in pain. Like the bad man. Meatsack looked desperately between him and from where he heard the sound. It sounded like Berty might need Meatsack's help, but Meatsack had hurt someone. He should fix his mistake, make it better. He needed bandages. He needed all the bandages.

But what if Berty needed him?

Meatsack sobbed loudly and once again looked between the bad man and where he heard Bert.

He felt so sad.

But Berty might need him.

Meatsack closed his eyes, squeezing big droplets of tears down into the bottom of his goggles, and ran.

* * *

I'm so sorry, everyone. I'm so sorry for doing this to Meatsack. You know, years ago I threatened to kill him off entirely and got in a lot of trouble. So, you can feel safe knowing that that won't happen ... yet.

How about a Vote and comment? Maybe that will calm my murderous side.

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