The Final

We've managed to get a satellite feed from the site of the zoofights arena, and let me tell you, the pictures we're getting are incredible. Now we're back on track, let me fill you in on what's been going down in the last few hours.

Mechos and the hulkaphant began limbering up for their clash in the main arena, while in the rooftop battleground on top of the arena's coordination fortress, Burnell awaited, truncheon in hand, for the arrival and release of the Gorillesis, freshly healed from its breathtaking homerun victory over the rhino. Porky Punisher was dusting his deagles ready for his final confrontation when the news everyone had been dreading broke.

Swanmass was out. somehow, the gnawing teeth of God knows how many rats had worn away at the wall of the swanmass containment cavern, and the gristly mess was now seeping over the dismal marshland that surrounds the southern end of the arena complex. Porky - valiant and furious as ever - insisted that the show must go on and rode out to face down the monstrosity as planned.

As we watched him ride out from the complex, hearts skipping a beat, we rang the bell for the day's scheduled combats. The competitors laid in with vigour.

Hulkaphant charged with a speed we never expected from something so big, closing the distance with Mechos in seconds as the first shots of the gatling gun pinged off his hide in puffs of pulverised bone. With a slap of hypertensile steel being released from its catch, the ballista mounted between the beast's shoulder blades slammed its payload out, and straight through the starship-grade composite of the Red Banana's shoulder armour. Skewering the primate through the deltoid before Mechos could even get a shield between its ally and the crossbow, the impact of the bolt sent the whole squid/cannon assembly juddering back more than ten feet. Gritting his teeth, the Gorilla veteran began to shove the bolt through and out of his shoulder while still keeping an armoured forearm on the gatling mechanism. Mechos struggled to right his position after the impact, and bullets once again began spraying into the hulkaphant's armour with increasing frequency.

As the two behemoths neared close combat range, the deafening electronic bellow of a synthesised Japanese choir rocked the arena walls.


Gorillesis emerged from a shielded lift atop the coordination fortress, and beat his chest in defiance as it crackled with blue electric fury. John Burnell, even after years of sneering at the most dangerous felons, furrowed his brow in anxiety at the cartridge protruding from the monster's bulky control dome: Altered Beast. The robot monster rose its arms high, and lightning split the sky in two as a downpour erupted on the dessicated stadium.


From the dampening sands of the arena, trembling, acid-burned fins emerged as three very confused tiger sharks lurched into awareness.

Rain pounded into the swamp outside the arena, slickening the progress of the red, gelid mass as it boiled and rolled to fill every quagmire and puddle. Tendrils seeped into pores between soil particles and flesh sank below mud as the swanmass dispersed over the open ground. As Porky rode out onto the bog, rain bouncing off his chrome armour, beaks and gorilla arms began to creep from the mire. It was then that Porky noticed the headstones.

Swanmass was soaking into the graveyard.

Back in the main arena, the tinkling of bone like smashed masonry, the enraged trumpeting of a terrifyingly large animal, the clashing of chipped titanium plates, and the war hymns of a hovering invertebrate vied for dominance of the soundscape as the air billowed with thick dust, turning to mud which slid down the flanks of the competitors. Acid gushed from the half-severed trunk of the hulkaphant to be diluted harmlessly by the downpour, raising clouds of steam as it drained into the sand. Amidst the gloom, Darth Gorilla wrenched the crossbow bolt from his arm roared, slamming it like a javelin through one of Hulk Hogan's many cloned limbs.

Gnashing his impossibly white teeth and staring with crazy, law-obsessed eyes, Retired Sheriff John Burnell strained against the Gorillesis, truncheon and iridium bat crossed and shooting sparks into the torrents of rain. His justice-sense tingling, the venerable narrator dived to avoid the ragged dive of a reanimated shark as it fell from the clouds, exploding into a wet heap of cartilage as it thudded into the rooftop. Wiping his leathery orange brow, he rolled and held his truncheon straight out to block the jaws of the second shark as it plummeted towards him. Straining to keep it away with all his benchpress-a-train strength, he delivered the shark a tidy headbutt, carving cartilage and flesh with the prow of his coiffure like the titanic grinding into an iceberg. The shark cleaved in two, Burnell rolled once more just in time to avoid the iridium bat as it laid an eight inch dent in the roof. Scrambling to his feet, the sheriff (retired), brandished his truncheon and beckoned the gorillesis forth to single combat.


Juddering and wrenching violently from side to side, the robot monster crackled all over with blue arc lightning as muscles swelled underneath iron cladding and steel cables stretched to accomodate veins and sinews of Liefieldian proportions.

John Burnell was not watching. Like mechos, hulkaphant, and every other sentient being in the complex, he was shitting his pants as swanmass burst out of the graveyard with a sound like God punching his dog in the nuts. Looming high under the stormclouds, a tower of flesh crested like a wave, topped by the form of a blazing rhino on whose shoulders sat the saddest frog in the universe.

With the ground and the air shaking as swanmass extricated itself from the putrescent earth, John Burnell realised there was not a second to waste. Without even looking at his opponent, he jammed a blank SNES cartridge into its face and ran for the lift to the arena command dome as the burly monster stumbled around and clutched its own head in confusion.

Down in the main ring, Mechos and Hulkaphant turned to face each other as lightning smashed into the radio transmitter tower high above them. Eyes like wise dinner plates met the gaze of red orbs hidden in bony crevasses and stared as thunder rolled massively across the heavens.

An almost imperceptible nod.

A tiny raise in the eyebrow that no squid possesses.

A trunk and a tentacle, slapping together under a downpour in history's most awesome high five.

Riding the cheetah steed at desperate speeds through the slippery bog, Porky Punisher deagled the tower of flesh with furious accuracy whenever anything like a face boiled out of its decaying folds. Tentacles like freight trains smashed into the wet soil in his wake, sending up showers of rotten globules. Slamming magazine after magazine into his weapons, Porky screwed up his snout in defiance of death. As a pillar of meat battered down in front of him he halted his steed and, with the glory of at least eight million knights, he turned it and rode straight into the heart of the monster.

Mechos, Darth and Hulk emerged from the arena's main gate just in time to see the rear legs of the cheetah disappear into the beef curtains of the swanmass. Desperate to aid in the struggle they bellowed in unison while Darth Gorilla waved a fist and unloaded the gatling gun into the flesh tower. The fight was on.

It was 15 minutes into the battle when porky emerged again. Blackened and bruised, armour peeling away from skin, he landed with a smash next to his new, gigantic allies. Raising a feeble trotter in salute to his fallen steed, he smiled like a champion's breakfast and watched fiery gas blossom from the heart of the swanmass as the cheetah's power core went molten.

The unholy pile screeched in pain and fury, reeling back for a few seconds and allowing the four warriors to catch their breath and prepare for a final stand. Bruised, broken and resolute, with red streams pouring down their skin, they prepared to play out the final act of the tournament that had become a nightmare for humanity.

The swanmountain loomed, and the clouds churned. Eyes narrowed, and muscles bunched. The world hung on a thread, which snapped between the scissor blades of John Burnell's ridiculous voice, projected over loudspeakers.


With that Godlike pronouncement, the main doors of the arena swung open in a sunburst of red light, and silhouetted between them was the form of the Sega Gorillesis, command dome shattered and arms held high in challenge. In its head were crammed four cartridges: Mortal Kombat, Street Fighter II, Streets of Rage.... and Battletoads.

Barreling towards the swanmass, the gorilla took a mighty swing with its iridium bat, and connected with the force of a thousand metaphors. Meat tentacles whipped back in retaliation as the bat came down again and again. In the turmoil, the four heroes realised that Burnell, like some amazing police Jesus, had bought them the time they needed to get away from his closing, suicidal gambit.

Not wasting another moment, the champions ran as fast as they could from the swanmass and the gorillesis, locked together on the graveyard plain in a fury of meaty blows.

Deep inside the fortress, Burnell smiled, nodded, and gave the command that would rid the world of swanmass.

From 12 silos buried all around the arena complex, the bristly forms of 12,000 tarantulas, laden with heavy, ripe plutonium, rose on plumes of blue flame and headed for the swanmass.

Fade to white.


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