War of a Religion

A shocked Brightsider leaped into some nearby undergrowth. AA grenade blew up about 10 feet away, and didn't leave a scratch on him. He grabbed a blowtorch off of a dying darksider, and used it to tunnel into the ground at an angle, into a huge grid of mazes, swarming with dark, bright and flip siders. Although, they weren't fighting each other, nor were they fighting the valiant heroes, the ropers and lightsiders battling above there heads No, they had made a collabaration, to take on a far deadlier force. Such a force, that it may even destroy the world.

But why, you ask, has this come about? Why have these worst of foes joined forces? Well, it all starts with a folks tale...

The call came rather unexpectedly on a Friday morning, 7:32 am to be exact.
Georgie Hutkins was sitting on his sofa, staring at the wide open sea. It was rather misty and clouds were gathering in the west. However, Georgie, or Tabbie as he was known to his friends, was not interested in such matters, as he was rather caught up in his own worries at the moment. A large foghorn had sounded in the North-East, and Tabbie barely had enough time to dash through to the kitchen and whip out a 2-way radio from uder the sink.

"Stef, this is Georgie, come in Stef, over."

A loud crackle was heard, then a whispery voice said.

"Georgie, this is Stef, I hear you loud and clear, over."

"Stef, we have a code Red, repeat, we have a code Red, over."

"What!?!" Said a much stronger voice, which broke into a rampage of swearing, cursing and kicking things.

"Calm down, Im angry too, but don't over-do it, over."

"Right... Transmision end, over"

Chapter 2: The Scramble.

In a hurry, our hero-to-be dased around the house like a madman... Worm... whatever! He grabbed an air assualt rifle with laser-attachments from under his bed. Unfortunately it was held on to the roof of the bed with the most sticky substance known to worm-kind. Sticky tape. He pulled open his drawer and produced 4 grendes and a health pack. Now your probably (or hopefully) thinking "Why would a middle-aged, balding worm who has the most ridiculous nickname be in possesion of such weapons?" I'll tell you why. He used to be in the army, a sqaudron to be more exact, Squadron No.5 to be even more exact. They were based at the ex camp-darkside, which darksiders called 'Shrangerderhyum' for some odd reason. Anyways, Georgie hauled all his heavy artillery out of his house and into the boot (or 'trunk' to ya'll Americans ,) of his camoflauged 4-by-4 army trunk with detachable machine-gun. He then started the engine, then pressed 4 buttons which said 'Turbo', 'Offroad', 'Rally', and 'CD-Player'. Then he raced off into the North-East with Petrolheads 'Ace of Spades' blasting into his brain.

Chapter 3: A long, long, long journey and no air conditioning.

After listening to the same lyrics 5 times over he changed the CD to something by U2, despite the fact it really didn't set the mood right. After 10 minutes of driving he reached a speed camera. For those of you who don't know speed cameras are boxes with green and red stripes painted on them and are the Devil's money-making driver infuriating gift to over-carefull governments. They are made to take pictures of people who are a few Mph above the speed limit, and send them a fine. Anyway, one of these speed cameras caught Tab off gaurd. Not wanting a fine, he blew it up with one of his grenades.

Georgie drove on and on for a very long time on the same dusty, deserted country road, and the sky got darker and darker, which was perfectly normal. However the way that it did so, was not perfectly normal. The way it was not normal I couldn't say, but it just wasn't. It's a bit like when you buy The Sun, (the newspaper kind, not the great flaming ball in the sky, {when I say flaming, I mean the burning kind, not something that people do to spammers [not the sort of spam you eat, but, oh forget it!]}), when your used to buying the Sunday Times. It still gives you the news, but not in the same way. It was just so peculiar, but then again, peculiar things always happened in this part of the kingdom of Worms, so he Tab decided to sleep on it.

Chapter 4: So tired

Tab pulled up to the front of the motel, owned by 'Honest' Fred 'No Chances of Catches' Griply. The charge, Georgie thought, was very good, �5.99. He met a grumpy receptionist at the main desk, which looked like it would collapse at any moment. (I mean both the receptionist and the desk.)

"What?" Snapped the receptionist.

"Yes, well, erm," stuttered Tab, shocked by the sudden rudenes of the receptionist.

"Spit it out sonny!"

"Oh, I would like a room for the night, please."

The receptionist paused for a second.

"We ain't got no rooms. You can sleep either on the table or the floor."

Georgie was clearly shocked and angry at this proposition.

"What?!? This is a disgrace! I want to see the manager about this!.. NOW!!!"

"I am the manager." Fred calmly said.

"Eh? Oh, forget it, i'm outta here!"

Left with no other options Georgie was forced to sleep in the car that night, dreaming wistfully of what was to come and many other things, but thats a different story altogether. Until he woke with a jerk to the sound of rustling bushes.

The sudden rustle in the bushes disturbed Georgie, but merely dismissed it as a bird or a cat or a dog or, or a Schnargle or something like that...

"A SCHNARGLE!!!!!11!!!11!!!1!!"

Tab whipped out his Assault rifle and aimed at the bushes.

"Ratatatataratataratatataratatataratatatat!"

His assault rifle ripped and shredded the nightime peace, and still the bullets flew. Eventually, it occured to Tab that he was maybe leeeetle bit overreacting, so he let go of the trigger.

He groped his way through the pitch darkness to find another fellow worm, cowering in a hole behind the overgrowth.

"Stef? Is that you?"

Chapter 5: Reunited and Ready to Rumble OR The Mysterious Conversation.

"Yeah... it's me alright... sorry for startling you!" Stef said in his ussual, almost comic weak voice.

"Well... let's just say that startled is a bit of an understatement, shall we?"

Georgie helped his old friend up and walked with him to the van. Amazingly, Stef wasn't hurt at all, bar that he had a terrible headache from the noise of the machine gun.

"What in the name Woot are you doing out here anyway?" Asked Tab.

"Same reason as, you I suppose." Replied Stef.

"You mean..."

"Yep."

"Hmm... makes sense, but this is very serious business were talking about here."

"Oh, unquestionably! However..." Stefs voice trailled awy uneasily.

"Yes?"

"It has already begun."

A stunned silence overcame Georgie.

"But... that... means..."

"GET DOWN GEORGIE!!!!! AAARRRGGGHHH!!!!!"

Chapter 6: Gunfight

Georgie was yanked by his quick-thinking friend into the little hole that Stef had hid in while he was under friendly-fire. Overhead he heard a loud engine of what he instantly recognised as a Klob Meister B-Copter: 2.31, no... 2.42. He had acquired this instinct from 3 years of serving in the army as you may recall. Anyway, a good 2 seconds had passed since he had been pulled into this hole in the undergrowth, and already his hayfever was getting to him. That was only a small worry, at least when you compare it to being under fire from 4 airborne machine-guns and the possibility of a laser guided missile blowing you up at any second if the enemy got bored of his little pea-shooters. Tabs army instinct began to kick in again and he lay flat on the dusty ground, waiting. Waiting for the right moment. Then, he completely transformed. His average, mid-thirties, mild manerred self was gone in an instant, to be replaced by a feroucious, 20 year old squadron commander with just about no manners at all!

"Get your but down soldier! Were under fire!" Georgie roared to Stef over the hurricane of bullets and engine noise.

Tab dived out from under the undergrowth and rolled and tumbled towards his 4-by-4, and hopped into the driver seat. He grabbed his trusty rocket launcher from the glove compartment, where he alwys kept for those little 'run-ins with the law' and traffic jams. Knowing if that if he stayed in the vehicle for much longer, he could forget about any plans he had for breakfast tommorow, so he jumped out the sunroof. His rocket lancher's instant lock-on gizmo instantly locked-on to the chopper...

WHOOSH!! KERRRRRRPPPPLLLLLLLOOOWWWWWEEEE!!!! (... well, you do a better impression of a rocket launcher blowing up a helicopter!)

The copter explode in a ball of flames and fell catastophically towards earth.

Luckily, it landed right on top of the motel, and blew it up.

Onwards with part 6: The open road

After awakening from what had been a relatively good nights sleep, Georgie woke to the sound of birds circling overhead. Birds of prey to exact. They circled, (thankfully,) above the now ruined Motel, preparing to feast on the limp corpse of Fred. Tab stretched and took a look round. It was very, very hot, around 25C he guessed, the motel was still burning, and his companion was still asleep in the trunk. Good.

"Wake up!"

"Hmm... nyuming humink bed... snore..." Stef muttered.

"Hello? Wake up Stef!"

"Hmmph... cosy tooth-yak... six... snore..."

"WAKE UP!!"

"Hmm, I'm up, I'm up, what fire? Run!" Stef said in a daze.

"Cmo'n! Wev'e got to go man! Theres only a few days left."

"Oh... alright. Just let me get me get my jeans O.K?"

Well, I'm back. (From school, in case your wondering where on earth I got to.)

"Well, yes, you can get your jeans on, but then wev'e got to get a move on! We don't want another attack like last night..... What the heck is that?" Tab asked, pointing to a strange, rectangular object in Stefs hand.

"This? Oh, it's just my lucky lighter. I always carry it, I used it to light my 1st ever cigar, that's why it's lucky."

Stef whipped out a pck of fags from his jeans pouch.

"Want one?"

"Nah, I don't smoke any more. Gave it up when I met my girlfreind."

"Then I dumped her." He added quietly.

"Tough break. Not for me though, Iv'e got a wife and 3 kids!"

"Hmm..." He said reflectively, "Why's your lighter shaped like that?" Georgie enquired, in a bid to change the subject. Tab shrugged his shoulders.

"Dunno. Probably because I bought it in the Horricas or something like that."

The Horicas, for those of you who don't know, are the worms equivelent to a cross between The Bahamas, Vegas and Vice City, sunny all day long with lot's of gambling and the infinite danger of having you head chopped of by a Samaria Sword.

"Oh crap! Wev'e been talking for half an hour! C'mon hop in!"

And with that they raced off down the dusty country road to the sound of Queen.

...

But what became of these heroes? What, prey tell, happened? Were they ambushed yet again, and left to die, frying like an egg, in the middle of nowhere? Or did they go on, to fight like heroes? Well, I'll tell you...

To Be Continued.