Necrobowl #1

Welcome to Necrobowl

Light flared behind my eyes as an intense pain stabbed at my temples. I dropped to my knees, blinded by the light, and hung my head in my hands. I may have whimpered a little. I admit it… I don’t have a high pain threshold.

Was I having a stroke? Was I dead? Fucked if I know… more information needed.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably just a few seconds, the light started to fade and shapes started to coalesce in my vision.

Oh, I’m definitely dead. All I could see were pyres of flame, dark skies, and monsters. So many monsters. This was obviously hell. Or maybe a Meatloaf music video? I strained my hearing, but all I could hear were screams of torment. No power vocals. No violins. So, not a Meatloaf music video then.

Flashes of light continued flaring around me, each one leaving behind a confused being of some kind as it faded. The creatures looked around, blinking, lost and dazed, like me.

Another flare, this one quite close to where I was cowering, deposited a creature from humanity’s collective nightmare in front of me. Hideously deformed forehead, tusks rising from the side of its mouth, copious love handles and deposits of misshapen fat, skin the colour and texture of a rotting hippo. I’ve seen a LOT of rotting hippo corpses… I know what I’m talking about. And the smell! Beyond my ability to describe with words. Bile rose at the back of my throat.

“Fuck!” the monster uttered. Its voice evoked visions of gravel quarries and tar pits. It rose its face to the sky and roared, the hot air of its frustration washing over me. Then it saw me, watching covertly through lowered eyelids.

“Hi!” The monster said, raising a hand in greeting. “Me Orc.”

Orc stared at me, and I realised something: it reminded me of my husband! My dead husband, who had passed away six months ago. Oh, the similarity wasn’t based on looks, nor the creature’s size, nor the smell… although there were distinct similarities. It was the eyes. The creature’s eyes had a kindness to them. A kindness that put me at ease.

“Hi,” I said, stuttering awkwardly at this familiar social ritual in such an alien setting. “I’m Orson.”

“Race?” Orc asked. “Dwarf? Ugly Orc baby? Satyr? Maybe elf?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Orc continued on in its deep gravelly voice.

“No, not elf. Too fat.”

“Hey!” I said. “I reject your fat-shaming!”

My brain fog started to clear and I finally realised what was happening. I was lying in a hospital somewhere, unconscious or possibly in a coma, dreaming I was trapped in a Matthew Reilly novel.

“I’m human,” I said, answering Orc’s questioning eyes. “Is Orc your name or race?”

“Both.” Orc then lost interest in me and turned away, so I grabbed it by the shoulder.

“What do we do now?” I asked. “Is this a temple and we have to escape? Or some battle to the death with the best warriors from throughout the galaxy?”

“Necrobowl,” Orc said. “Put Skull through Ring.”

My gaze followed the direction of Orc’s pointing finger to where, far in the distance, a cleared space the size of an AFL oval had a single pole in the middle, holding up a horizontal red ring.

“We have to put a head through that red ring?” I asked Orc.

“Ring not red. Ring white. Ring covered in blood.”

Extreme netball! I doubted Orc would understand the reference, so I kept the joke to myself.

The flashes of light continued, leaving confused people in their wake. Some of them, like Orc, seemed to know exactly what was happening. Others, like me, had no idea. However, I saw no other humans. As I looked around, getting my bearings, the flashes of light slowed, then stopped.

An eerie silence descended as the last flash of light dissipated. All conversations ceased, and the only sounds were the crackling of the fires which provided heat and illumination. The refugees - victims? contestants? I have no idea what to call ourselves - all turned to the place where the last flash of light had faded.

The light had deposited the ugliest being of this whole assembly. It had dry, brittle, long black hair which started on its head and ran down its back. Its tits - probably safe to classify this one as female - sagged past her hips. Her skin was pitted with scales and small pus-filled wounds. And its eyes roiled constantly in its head, trying to see everything at once but not observing a thing. She stood on top of a massive mound of bodies, a detail I hadn’t grasped until now due to the absurdity of the situation.

“Welcome to Necrobowl!” She bellowed. “Welcome to the battle for the Skull of the Necromancer King.”

She was hideous. She moved like a dangerous, sly dog. Then it struck me. She reminded me of my ex-wife, GG. Not in a cutesy way like Orc reminded me of my Bear. No, with GG, the resemblance was purely physical. My ex-wife had a hideous countenance, with a personality to match. I still feel shame to this day; shame I tolerated her as long as I did. Internalised queerphobia can make you feel like you deserve to be treated like shit. Of course, a representation of her had to turn up in my hellscape.

“You are fodder for the machine. Plucked randomly from your lives, you are mere training tools for our superior players.”

I looked at Orc, who looked at me. His beautiful eyes had an almost religious fervour to them.

“Some of you may be true warriors,” the hideous she-beast continued, “but I doubt it.”

Then, because no internal hellscape would be complete without it, she said:

“May your deaths be quick and painless.”

Necrobowl #1