Oskars blogg

Mitt förra inlägg var inlägg nummer 100, och detta måste firas! Hurra, hurra, hurra!

Cue fireworks...

There we are.

100 inlägg... Nä, fan vad läckert. Jag måste medge att jag uppfylls av en oförtjänad stolthet. 100 inlägg. Och vad har jag gjort? Jag har skrivit, och rantat, reviewat och hyllat. Det har varit en händelserik färd, fylld med under och--

Fuck it, jag kan inte! Nej, jag tänker inte göra en clipshow!

Ni vet, ju närmare 2015 vi kommer, desto mer övertygad blir jag om att Back to the Future ljög för oss. Call me naive, but goddammit, I want my flying car and holographic  movies! Sen jag först hörde Doc Brown säga de magiska orden: "Where we're going we won't need roads!" har jag levt i förväntan... Men ack, och tvi, det verkar som om jag kommer bli besviken.

Så, 2012 är det nu. Vad roligt. Finns de som hävdar att "i år är det slut", men det vet vi ju att det är bullshit. Jag själv tror att shit's gonna happen, för det är det som alltid sker. Skit i en ny början, det är en fortsättning. Hurvida fortsättningen kommer vara Return of the King eller om det kommer bli som ännu en bok i "Song of Ice and Fire" det vetta fan, och det bryr jag mig inte om. Ta det som det kommer, det onda med det goda och allt det där, det låter rätt bra.

2011 var ett mycket... intressant år. Jag säger inte att det har varit bara skit, nej nej. Diktatorer har störtats, och det är ju alltid bra. Visserligen har MASSA skit hänt också, men inget som vi inte kan klara av. Säga vad man vill om människor, men inte fan är vi push overs. Vi kommer kämpa för överlevnad i minst ett par hundra år till. Om sedan Jorden går under eller ej, det kommer bara innebära att det uppstår nya villkor. Villkor som vi, vilket vi alltid gör, kommer att böja, och vända och bryta. 'Cause goddammit, we're fucking awesome.

Gott nytt år!

Hade tänkt skriva något. Kommer inte på vad. Jag återkommer.

Batman. Jävlarrr i helvete, namnet enbart väcker bilder av stordåd och ren, ofiltrerad awesomeness (do not ingest if pregnant, elderly or under the age of 12, or not Batman).

Batman är, skulle vissa hävda, kodifieraren av "badass" som vi använder uttrycket idag. Jag säger inte att han var den första eller största (jag säger inte att han inte var det heller), men det går inte att förneka att Batman har haft stort inflytande på världens tänkande om badassness.

Batmans in-universe backstory är vida känd, men jag gör en snabb genomgång av den, just in case someone's been living under a rock for the last 70 years or so...

Som ung pojke bevittnar Bruce Wayne hur hans föräldrar kallblodigt skjuts ner på gatan i Gotham City (to be fair, they were walking through Crime Alley, but hey! It was that, or Rape Ave.). Needless to say, he doesn't take it well. Men redan här får vi se hur badass han är! Där du och jag (och de flesta emotionellt friska, sunda personer) skulle accepterat och gått vidare efter en sorgeperiod, så säger Bruce, ett barn, att han ska förinta brott.

   An impossible task? Maybe. But points for spirit!

   Efter detta är allt lite suddigt, men det står klart att Bruce, när han blev stor nog, resta jorden runt, studerandes alla möjliga former av vetenskap, kriminologi, kampsport och psykologi, innan han återvände till Gotham City.

   Exakt hur allt detta gick till, och detaljerna kring hans tidiga dagar som Batman varierar, but most stories agree on one thing: badassery happened.

   Enligt Frank Miller (pre-ASSBAR och galenskapen) så slog han snabbt ihop sig med den enda rena polisen i staden: Lt. James Gordon, och de två har sammarbetat sedan dess.

   I början gick allt bra: mafiosos och gangsters blev skrämda av denna stora, mörka, mystiska figur som var en enorm fladdermus (eller? Mwahahaha!), and all seemed well.

   Then came the REAL bad guys. Våldsamma galningar så som the Joker och Scarecrow slog sig ned i Gotham, kanske just för att Bats var där från början.

This makes the task truly impossible, inser man nu. Hur ska Batman kunna utrota brott, om galningar lockas till honom?

   Det går inte.

   Och Batman vet detta.

   See, the core, the real heart of what makes Batman much more badass than Superman, for example (who's cool, but not really Badass), det är hans envishet. Superman är också vida känd för sin Stålvilja (just for pun), men Batman har mer än en gång slagit fiender långt över Supermans kraftnivåer med enbart sin intelligens och vägran att ge upp.

   And that's why we love him.

   'Cause Batman can take on anyone, despite being "only human", and win.

Då var det klart! 14 (tja, 15 om man räknar epilogen) kapitel, uppladdade i ojämn takt! Det är sannerligen ett monument till min egen lathet, och till Firefox's nackdelar att jag inte orkar göra det varje dag. Men, men. Nu är det klart, men inte färdigt.

Som ni märkte finns det en sequel-hook, precis som det ska finnas. Problemet nu är att jag inte vet om folk faktiskt var intresserade av den här följetongen, så nu är det upp till Dig. Skriv gärna någon fin liten kritik, bra som dålig, så att jag kan lära mig som författare, och underhållare.

Som en liten extra grej har jag (kommer, tekniskt sett, när inlägget är skrivet) ändrat omröstningen från "Kirk vs. Picard" till "Vill du ha en fortsättning till Fimbulvinter?" som ni gärna får (läs: "ska") rösta på.

In other news: Skyrim har bara sju dagar kvar, jag har skaffat jobb, Albin är jobbig och jag saknar att ha filosofi nu på lovet. Oskar, out!

Cat's howl, the sky is green, pigs fly and Hummel was king. That's about the level of logic we were at.

   "No, no," I whispered in desperation. "Don't... Say it ain't so..."

   "But it is," Hummel's voice said from the doorway. I turned to face him, a grim expression on my face.

   "How could you?" I asked. "To your own brother?"

   "It was easy, really. Once I'd gotten used to the thought, that is."

   "But he's you brother! Doesn't that mean anything?"

   He pondered the question for maybe one second before answering. "No."

   "You're a scum," I spat, and prepared to unleash the fatal winds upon him. He sensed the stirring in the air, and took a step back.

   "Nuh-hu!" he said, and snapped his fingers. A dozen gnomes dressed in plate armor and carrying swords showed themselves, coming out from behind secret compartments in the walls that I hadn't noticed at first. The king's bodyguard.

   My god, it was as if he was intentionally defiling everything his brother was.

   "I wouldn't do that here, Ben," he said, smugly. "The guards, and the people, would have some issues if you killed their new king."

   "You're not king yet," I growled.

   "Oh, hush you. I will be soon," he scoffed, and nodded toward Mummel.

   I didn't say anything. He was probably right anyway. Shit.

   "I suggest you leave soon," he continued. "I have some business to attend to."

   "Fuck you," I stated.

   "Beat it," he clarified, with anger.

   "What happens after you become king?" I asked, nonchalantly. "You gonna keep doing what you brother has?"

   He smirked. "I have different plans. I'm thinking of expanding this kingdom."

   "You ever come close to the mortal realm and I'll kill you," I snarled.

   "Fuck you."

   I smiled, and started walking away, and I could feel his eyes burn in the back of my neck. Before I headed back down the stairs, I turned around.

   "Hummel, you know something? You guys still owe me a favor."

   "You can't affect this, Ben," he jested.

   "Oh, I know. I wasn't planning on that."

   He was cautious now, but he still asked: "What's the favor?"

   "Keep supplying the Aesir with weapons, will you?"

   His eyes turned into thin, black slits, and his face looked like a hairy tomato. I'd struck a nerve. With that I left, and in any normal case, I'd been pleased that I at least got to step on somebody's toes.

   But Hummel's reaction told me something that I didn't like

   Somebody was supporting him. Somebody who held a grudge against Odin and his ilk. 

   Somebody was whispering in his ears with scarred lips.

Epilogue

The police came for me after two days, having analyzed some of the blood in the motel, and coming up with a match. Me. I went away quietly and answered every single question.

   "Were you there?"

   "Yes."

   "Did you see the girl?"

   "Only as a corpse, and afterwards I called you guys."

   "Why did we find your blood at the crime scene?"

   "Got shot."

   You know, the usual questions.

   They kept going for several hours, before Mort announced that big, muscular, bald guy had confessed to the crime, and confirmed that I had, indeed, been shot.

   They didn't believe me, but a confession is a confession, and sometimes you take the easy way out. I still felt their watchful eyes every time I went outside, waiting to catch me in the act.

   Gwen, meanwhile, had disappeared, and I couldn't reach her. I don't know where she went, or why, but one part of me suspects that maybe she'd crossed a line that someone had drawn helping me against Brutus.

   It made my stomach curl.

Odin didn't make any direct contact, but over a period of a few weeks, I could always spot a raven around my neighborhood, keeping watch over me. After three weeks of being spied on, I yelled at the bird that me and Odin were even, since I'd used my favor with the gnomes to keep him and his army well armed. The bird flew away, and I didn't see it again. It felt much more relaxing, thinking that maybe I'd actually managed to weasel myself out of a deal with him.

   Of course, I still owed Hecate a favor of her choice, but she didn't come to me to cash it in, making me think that maybe she'd just forget about it.

   And maybe I was John Galt.

The Brick was shut down for renovation after they discovered that it had been a victim of a very sad case of vandalism, that had left a large area completely scorched. However, the interest in bringing it back up was too low, and it ended up abandoned, becoming a sort of home for transients.

   And other things too.

   The weather kept getting lousier and lousier, with snow falling everyday. By Christmas, it was hard to even open the door.

   By May, the snow was still there.

   Scientists and tabloids were quick to blame global warming.

   I put together two and two, and blamed something else.

   Fimbulvinter.

   Ragnarök.

   Odin was preparing a war, and someone was trying to sabotage it. The Sky-Walker and Wolf-Father. And somehow, I had become involved in the hostilities.

   What Hecate'd said was true: darkness would fall. In fact, it was falling now.

   The days grew shorter, colder, darker. At least in the northern hemisphere. In the south, there was heat waves and drought. And all over the world, things going bump in the night, things that hadn't bumped for several centuries, were crawling under the beds of the human race. Closets were full of creepy, bug-eyed monsters and their moms, while all of the Nine Worlds trembled before the coming battle. It was the beginning of the end. Panic and death.

   So what could I do?

   I went to work.

I left Brutus with Gwen. On a slightly different night I might've felt bad for the son of a bitch, but not tonight. Not after all the shit he'd done. Gwen could take him to hell and back a couple of times before I'd feel sorry. Besides, I didn't have much time.

   Hummel, you bastard.

   Why?

   Well, I suppose to be king, but still... Why? Why me? Why do all this in order to get the throne? It just felt needlessly complicated.

   And, while we're on the subject of questions: how? Hummel wasn't stupid, but he was far from a political schemer. Yeah, he could talk to people, make them feel comfortable maybe, but I'd always assumed that it was by accident.

   Maybe I'd underestimated him.

   From the Brick to the Grand Oak there was a twenty minute drive normally, but I managed to push it down to ten.

   The night in Járnborg was silent, as if the dark lay as a cover over the city. Nothing of the life and sound could be picked up. I didn't think that the people were dead, but after spending all my life in a town where you can always find something happening, the effect was quite chilling.

   I hoped I wasn't too late to stop Mummel from signing the document.

   I ran. My left leg hurt from when Brutus threw me across the room, and my neck was still sore from the zombie's merciless strangulation. But I tried not to let it slow me down, using wind as a driving force behind me. Not a lot, but as much as I could manage without passing out from exertion. The guards at the gate let me through, presumably because they recognized me as "the help".

   It took me almost ten minutes of running up stairs before I finally leaned against the door to the throne room. I caught my breath, and kicked it open.

   "HUMMEL!" I yelled.

   "..." said the empty room.

   It's night, stupid! my inner voice said. Hummel and Mummel are in their chambers!

   Oh. Right.

   I turned around, rushing up more stairs until I came to the king's private chambers. This time, I decided to knock.

   "Come... in," wheezed an old man, and I entered. The old man turned out to be Mummel. He was even worse for wear than when I saw him less than half a day ago. He was white as snow, his skin stretched to thin over his skeleton, making him seem dead already. His hair had completely fallen off.

   "Jesus," I stuttered. His chambers were empty except for us two, and I went up to him.

   "Who is it?" he asked.

   "It's me," I said. "Ben. The elementalist."

   "Ah..."

   "You highness," I began. "There's something I must ask..."

   "No need to worry," he coughed. "I know... I know everything..."

   I raised an eyebrow in confusion. "You... do?"

   "Yes. I'm dying. I know that. And I know why you're here. It's been done."

   "You arrested Hummel?" I asked, impressed at the old man's cunning, even under the affliction of the curse.

   "Arrested? No. I did what you asked," he said, and for the first time during the conversation, he looked me in the eyes. "I made him king."

The haze started to clear, and I now got my first, good look at my killer.

   It did not ease my fear.

   Brutus was tall. Not superhumanly tall, but over six feet at least. He looked like the love child of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Lex Luthor, having shaved off both his hair and eyebrows. His chest was bare, covered in tattoos. Sigil's and symbols of dark magic. That could explain his power with a lack of focus. He'd bought it. He was holding a gun in his right hand, his arm limp against his side as he came closer.

   I tried to move away, but the dizziness was too much for me to stand properly, and he pulled back down on the ground by my collar.

   "Hurk!" I exclaimed. I do have a way with words, after all.

   "It thought I'd killed you," the wizard said, and laid his left hand against my chest, pushing me down.

   "Nah," I snarled. "Takes more than that to kill me! Like talent. Or skill. Or just plain knowing how to do stuff."

   He punched me in the chest, and the air went out of my lungs. I coughed and wheezed, but he didn't care.

   "You take me for an amateur?" he said, a slight trace of anger in his voice.

   "Yup." Another punch, this one to my jaw. The hit dazed me, and I felt like throwing up.

   "Insolent fool!" he screams, frothing at the mouth. Talk about hair-trigger temper. "My father gave me this gift! This power! It's magnificent! And yet you think I'm an amateur?" He stood up and pointed the gun at my face. "You will suffer!"

   "You know," I said. "This is how I know! A skilled wizard would not only have blasted me here, but also just have finished it directly with an evocation. But you, I mean, look at you!" His lips twitched, and his eyes began squinting. "You're nothing but a dude with a gun right now. I'd call you Dirty Harry Potter, but he knows what he's doing."

   "Shut up!" He spat in my face, and I wiped it off.

   "Oh, why should I? You're only going to kill me again!" I shot him a smile without joy. "Not that it'll help this time either."

   "I'll kill you!"

   "Do it then!"

   He started pulling the trigger, but in the nano-second it takes for him to shoot, Gwen pushed me away, and leapt forward with her axe. The blade cut right into his arm, severing meat and bone just below the elbow. The gun fell down, still in the grip of his hand, and he started screaming, clutching the stump that was once a complete arm.

   "Oh, hush you," she said, and kicked him square in the jaw. He fell over, unconscious. Blood was still leaking from the wound.

   "Heal him up," I said.

   She turned to me, and her voice flared. "What?!"

   "Just a bit," I explained. "I need to talk to him. Then you can do whatever you want with him."

   She nodded once, and begrudgingly bent down over the wizard, and using a small stone inscribed with a rune, she closed the wound.

   "Happy?" she muttered.

   "No, but I might be soon."

   I gave him a hard, hard slap on the cheek, and he grunted. I gave him another one, just a bit harder. He blinked for a second, and when he realized the situation, his face turned pale.

   "Shit," he mumbled.

   "Damn straight," I scolded him. "Who do you work for?"

   "Bite me," he snarled, and spat at me. It was beginning to get tiresome.

   I wiped the spittle off my face. Gross. "Look, Brutus, make like you namesake and do some treason. It's good for you health, I hear."

   "Suck my hairless--"

   I took hold of his nose, and twisted it fifty degrees before he finished the sentence, and going from offensive to "Ow, ow, ow, it hurts!"

   Sometimes I love my job.

   "I'm gonna repeat the question," I said, slowly. "You give me an answer, or that pretty lady over there," I pointed at Gwen behind me, "is going to go viking on yo' punk ass."

   Gwen sighed. "Please, don't ever say that," she muttered. I ignored her comment, and focused on Brutus.

   "What will it be?" I asked. His eyes went from me, to Gwen, back to me, and so forth for a while, before he took a deep breath and told me who'd hired him.

   I couldn't believe it.

   Hummel!