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Post By The Hooded Hood dabbles with the cosmic nasties Thu Aug 18, 2005 at 06:58:14 am EDT |
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#228: Untold Tales of the Parodyverse: Bride of the Parody Master | |
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#228: Untold Tales of the Parodyverse: Bride of the Parody Master  The vast eternal plain beneath the chequerboard sky trembled as the war machines moved forward. Already the stronghold of the Chronicler of Stories was gone, scooped from its location at the heart of narrative by the unstoppable power arrayed against it. The quarter-mile-high vehicles of destruction rumbled round the vast crater, annihilating anything that got in their way.Dark Thugos looked out from the window of his iron fortress, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied the oncoming enemy. “Hmmm,” he growled. “Interesting.” “Interesting?” argued Jury, Shaper of Worlds. “It’s horrible! They’re crushing everything. Everyone, How can they do that?” Out across the plain, the Deliverer of Adventure sprang out with his apocalypse rapier and neatly carved one of the vast grey engines into pieces before he was blown to shreds by the others. The vehicles rolled over the remains of yet another fallen minor office holder and kept on coming. “Because they are the forces of the Parody Master,” Dark Thugos, Destroyer of Tales answered. “When he is fully aspected he is the greatest force in the Parodyverse. Nothing can stop him. Not gods, not the Family of the Pointless, not the Celestian Space Robots, not us.” “But what does he want? What is he doing?” “I have no idea, Jury. With the Chronicler fallen – or at least taken out of the game – there are some functions of the Triumverate which are now denied us. Together we three might have held our own for a while. Alone, we will fare no better than the rest.” “You have those eyebeams…” “I can do vast carnage to the Parody Master’s army of avatars, wipe them from the field if I truly unleashed the full extent of my power. But I could not stop the Parody Master.” The Shaper of Worlds watched as the huge tanks rolled over the Village of Shared Continuity, crushing the workers there beneath massive iron wheels. A few survivors fled across the plains, but the armoured avawarriors rode after them and cut them down. “What do we do then?” she asked. “We have to do something. It is our role. Our duty.” “Then we must do something that our enemy does not expect,” the tyrant of the Sol Empire replied. “Something extraordinary.” “Like what? I haven’t the time to create anything powerful enough to stand up to the Parody Master. He’s captured my Halls anyway, so all my work in progress is in his hands to be twisted as he pleases.” “We must conceal the Heart of the Parodyverse from him,” Thugos replied. “While that is denied him his power is only almost absolute. His conquest will always be incomplete. Such a failure will irk him, plague him… as it would irk and plague me.” “You’re reverting to your old ways,” Jury warned the former master of the war-planet of Appuffylips. “Anyway, where could we send the Heart that the Parody Master could not find it, could not take it?” “There are places,” said the Destroyer of Tales. “Old places that have been almost forgotten now, stories that are overdue for an ending. We could send it to one of those. We could…” Then the idea struck him. “Of course! The perfect site!” “Where?” asked Jury. Dark Thugos showed her, and a slow smile blossomed on her face. “Yes, it’s perfect,” she admitted. “The site was prepared by the Space Robots as a resting place of old for the Dreaming Celestian,” Thugos told her. “They laid defences there against threats of cosmic significance, and though the Celestians have fallen their power still remains there. That place’s mysteries are hidden from the wise by their fiat, and further confused by the Elder Beings that nest nearby, warping time and space in their own perverse manner, and by some temporal tangles that have yet to properly manifest. And the place is still held by ingenious little mortals who might yet distract the Parody Master with their dying.” “I could bear the thought of the Keeper of the Booke of the Law going the way of the Deliverer of Adventure,” Jury admitted. “Yes, let’s do it. We’ll conceal the Heart of the Parodyverse beneath the Lair Mansion on Parody Island.”  The Parody Master was tall and broad, his warrior bulk accentuated by his crimson battle armour. He cast aside the corpse of the Star Reeve and stepped on it as he returned to his tent.“L’Vokh!” “Master?” Brother L’Vokh called, hurrying forward to lift his lord’s helmet off, revealing a handsome bearded face beneath. “How may I serve you?” “A situation report on the siege of Thugos’ iron stronghold, if you please. And have someone send the Doomherald to me. I have an ultimatum to deliver.” “As the Master demands,” L’Vokh bowed. He gestured to a lesser flunky to send for the Doomherald, then delivered the briefing. “Almost all the minor office holders present on the conceptual plane are now eliminated, Master. A few have been captured. Where we have taken instruments of office they have been collected and cast into the Anarchy Forge, and their power has been added to that of the war host. The Halls of the Shaper have been plundered, and the new creations are being modified to your will.” “But the iron stronghold?” the Parody Master demanded, “How does it stand?” “Surrounded, Master, and shut off from all egress by any means whatsoever. There is little now that can be done to resist your forces. Thugos is cornered, his minions being winnowed by the hour. He and his fortress cannot endure for long.” “And Jury? Is she there?” L’Vokh noted how his Master’s voice changed when he spoke of the object of his desire. Jury was not to be harmed. Jury was to be taken alive, to be brought in chains to kneel at the foot of her conqueror, to swear eternal servitude to her lord and Master. “She is,” brother L’Vokh said. “As you anticipated, she first sought to flee to the Chronicler’s stronghold…” “Which is why I expended such force to carve it from reality,” the Parody Master noted. “The Chronicler was the oldest of the current Triumverate. He was the most dangerous.” “It is fortunate that the first Chronicler, the King of Tales, told us how to infiltrate his kingdom and take him down,” L’Vokh agreed. “Not that you could not have defeated him any way, my Master,” he added hastily. “Keep torturing the King of Tales,” the Parody Master commanded. “He has told us all that he knows, I’m sure; but I don’t like Chroniclers.” “Yes, master,” the monk replied. “What of the Heart of Stories? Has that been discovered yet?” “No, Master. That mystery eludes us.” “The Heart of Stories is our primary goal, L’Vokh,” the great warrior instructed. “You think that hurling the cosmic cube into the Anarchy Forge gave us power? That is nothing, nothing compared to what I can do with the Heart. Flog the sensitives. Have them work harder. Torture every prisoner to death and beyond if you must do it. But find me the Heart.” “Which one?” the Doomherald asked, leaning on the tentpost and smirking. “The one that will help you conquer the Parodyverse or the one that has conquered you?” The Parody Master turned on the lithe young man in the sleek black armour. “Have a care, Herald. Even you may not mock my affection for sweet Jury.” “Mock, sir? I’m in awe. The face that launched a billion avawarriors. You plan to lay the corpse of the Parodyverse at her feet as a tribute.” “More than that,” the Parody Master breathed. “Much more. But first she must be mine. She will be mine.” “Yes, I’ve spoken with the torturers. Quite a romance you have planned for her. But I can see you’ll convince her in the end.” “I am a conqueror in all things. She will yield to me and I shall possess her.” The Doomherald nodded, chuckling. “I take it you want me to deliver a love letter to the lady?” “Go to her,” agreed the Parody Master. “Tell her that I yet desire her, and that the time has come as I once promised her that I shall take her as my own. My bride. Command her to array herself and to kneel before me.” “And if that doesn’t set her heart all a-flutter and make her moist about the lower regions?” The greatest power in the Parodyverse glared at his Doomherald. “Tell Jury that she can come to me freely in love, or broken in chains, but she will come. Tell her the only difference is how much pain she will cause herself and anything she ever cared about. Tell her that her life is over except for the part of it devoted to serving and worshipping me! And tell her that the Parody Master will not cease, will not rest, will not relent until she and all things are his, under his domain forever and forever!” L’Vokh and the other acolytes present tumbled to their knees in adoration. “No chocolates?” asked the Doomherald. “Go,” commanded the Parody Master. “And bid her come.” “Tell your vile Master,” the Shaper of Worlds told the Doomherald, “that he has transgressed the ancient laws of the Parodyverse. He has incurred the wrath of the Triumverate, and of those who set the Triumverate in authority, and his judgement shall be swift and terrible. Bid him to set aside his armies, to lay down his conquests, and to beg for mercy lest he be destroyed to the uttermost!”“So that’s a no?” checked the Doomherald. “You don’t want to give him your phone number?” “Your Master plays a strong game,” Dark Thugos admired, “but he has not yet won. Why then should he expect the prize until he has completed the contest?” “Because, let’s face it, he has won. He’s the biggest dog in the schoolyard. He’s coming for you, Dark Thugos, and you know you can’t beat him. And when you’re on his torture racks who else is there to put him down? The Family of the Pointless? Gone into hiding. The Protector of the Parodyverse? We’ve already carved him and his whole space-hopping village out of reality. Galactivac? Still discorporated. The Celestians? Scrap metal.” “Your Parody Master has been beaten before,” Jury pointed out. “And not just by the big dogs, as you put it. By mortals.” “Only when he has been betrayed by the weakness of his host,” the Doomherald pointed out. “This time he has the perfect body, and nothing can stop him.” “The phrase ‘nothing can stop him’ often appears near the end of stories,” Dark Thugos pointed out. “Whose frame does your Master occupy?” “Heh,” the Doomherald snorted. “The old pump-me-for-weaknesses ploy? You people really are becoming desperate. But if it’ll help you to despair, the Master’s host is a broken former worlds conqueror called Vorrow. The one that almost overcame your old world, the one you were born and died on, Shaper. He was going to be murdered in his cell when the Resolution Prophecy found him.” “The Resolution Prophecy!” Dark Thugos scowled. “He was possessed by the Prophecy that exists to bring about the last battle of the Parodyverse?” “First the Master’s acolytes arranged for him to become one with the Prophecy,” the Doomherald explained. “His will was shattered by his defeat, and the Prophecy was dominant. But then they arranged for him to become possessed by the Parody Master. A perfect arrangement, and for the first time in a very long while my Master was able to achieve complete ascendance.” “And to add the Resolution Prophecy’s power to his own,” Jury swallowed. She was very pale. “From there the Master began to gather his forces,” the Doomherald went on. “We located the cosmic cube of the Dreaming Celestian, and that was used to light the fire of the Master’s Anarchy Furnace. Since then his power has only grown. He has never been mightier than he is now.” “This explains so much,” Dark Thugos breathed. “He truly has gained ascendancy.” “I hope you’re not going to wuss out and surrender to him,” the Doomherald objected. “Dark Thugos does not surrender.” “Attaboy! He’s looking forward to fighting you.” “Does he truly want to cause the Resolution War?” the Shaper of Worlds asked. “Do you want him to? Really?” “Personally, I’ll miss full-body massages if all life in the Parodyverse gets wiped out. But he’s the Master. And he doesn’t just want to cause the Resolution War. He wants to win it.” “To win it?” snorted Thugos. “That’s right. To a warrior like him, the ultimate conqueror of all he surveys, it’s the final challenge.” The Doomherald glanced over at Jury. “And he wants you as head cheerleader.” “Never,” she answered. “I would die first.” “You already died once,” pointed out the Doomherald. “You know that for some folks that’s not as permanent as you might want it to be. You think you could escape him in death, Shaper of Worlds? You think you can escape him at all.” Jury found her response knotted in her throat. “Look,” the herald said confidingly, “I know he’s not your ideal dream date, but he is going to win. He’s going to get what he wants from you, one way or another. He’s going to get everything he wants from everything. Why not make it easier on yourself and go to him now? You might be able to influence him with your pleading to temper what he does to the rest of the Parodyverse.” Jury nearly found herself accepting. “No!” she spat. “No surrender. Warn him, that Parody Master of yours that it’s not over yet. Tell him from me!” “Tell him that I will face him,” rumbled Dark Thugos, the Destroyer of Tales. “Him and me, alone on the plain. Tell him.” “You were his number two choice for the evening’s entertainment, Dark Thugos,” the Doomherald replied. The Parody Master strode across the plain beneath the checkerboard sky to face Thugos, former tyrant of the Sol Empire, the Destroyer of Tales.Jury watched from a turret of the iron fortress, awaiting her fate. She had power to make worlds, but when it came to violent destruction she could not match either of the combatants below. She willed a mirror into existence and spoke to herself in it: “So what do I do now?” she wondered. “Well, you don’t surrender,” her reflection answered. “We don’t do that. Ever.” “I’m scared.” “Of course you’re scared. That big bastard’s the scariest man you’ve ever faced, and he’s insanely powerful, and he wants to do terrible things to us.” “I can’t stop him.” “Then find someone who can. Think, woman. There has to be somebody who can take him on.” “I’m trapped here. Nobody can teleport out, or plane-hop, or time travel, or…” “You can’t get out, but that doesn’t mean you can’t bring someone in. You’re Shaper of Worlds, not some helpless heroine. So who shall it be? Who in all the worlds, in all time and space, across all the planes, would you most want at your side to take on the Parody Master?” Jury shuddered and turned away from the reflection. “Jarvis is dead. I can’t bring him back. It is beyond me.” “Who else then? Who can you call that can stop the Parody Master?” “Nobody has that kind of power. You heard that Doomherald. He was right. There’s nobody that can match what the Parody Master can do at their height of his manifestation.” “Right. So it’s not about power then. It’s about winning. Who do you trust who could beat him?” “There’s nobody. Nobody at all. Nobody I trust.” “Then who do you know that could beat him?” The Shaper of Worlds turned aside. “No. I don’t know anybody.” “Hey, I’m your reflection, here. It’s pointless trying to lie to me.” Out on the plain, Dark Thugos’ entropy eyebeams slammed into the Parody Master with a force that could shatter a galaxy. The red-armoured warrior was hammered backwards, staggered to one knee. He rose again, steaming, to deliver an energy blast of comparable magnitude to his enemy. “I’m not calling him,” Jury insisted. “It’s him or the Parody Master,” her reflection responded. “Your choice.” The Shaper of Worlds created new swear words just to express her feelings. She shattered the mirror into tiny shards, then dismantled the very atoms that had made it. Dark Thugos’ eyebeams seared into the Parody Master a third time. The crimson warrior grunted but didn’t fall this time. Instead he reached out and seared his glowing fists into the Destroyer of Tales’ chest. The force of a hundred stars burst through Thugos. He staggered backwards three paces and fell. The Parody Master staggered over his body but rose triumphant. He stared up at the iron fortress. “Jury,” he whispered. The Shaper of Worlds looked absurdly small in the rusting iron halls of the fallen Destroyer of Tales. She stood mantled in white, reflected in the mirror, her chin held high to show she was not afraid; to pretend she was not afraid.The Parody Master sundered the vast iron portals of the fortress and strode to claim her. “Jury!” he called. “You will worship me!” “As blandishments to entrance the hearts of young ladies go,” said the Hooded Hood, “I suspect there are better.” “You!” the Parody Master shouted as he spotted the cowled crime czar lurking in the shadows. “Indeed,” agreed the Hood. “Good evening. I was just passing and thought I might pay my respects on my dear old adversary the Shaper of Worlds. We never seem to have the time to snipe at each other nowadays.” Jury cast him a grateful look. It was amazing how that snide, sardonic tone could be so annoying when directed at her but so comforting when pointed at the Parody Master. She was still amazed that he had come when she had called. “This woman is mine!” the Parody Master declared. “Her realm is fallen. Her defenders are dead. Do you seek to deny me the spoils of my victory, frail mortal?” “I contest your assertions,” the Hood replied. “Jury most certainly does not accept any claim you may make upon her. Although you have captured the psychic real estate wherein the Shaper previously conducted her business you have singularly failed to capture the Storyheart which empowers the office holders…” “You know about that?” blurted Jury, appalled. “How…?” “Am I not the Hooded Hood?” the archvillain challenged her, then turned back to the Parody Master. “And I assure you that not all those who seek to defend the lady are yet deceased.” “He absorbed the Resolution Prophecy and the power of the cosmic cube,” Jury told the Hood. “Did I mention that?” “You actually omitted those details,” the cowled crime czar told her. “Sorry.” The Parody Master drew his crimson sword. Molecule-thick, it hummed with anticipation at slaughter. The Hooded Hood moved to stand beside Jury. “I’m delighted to have a chance to slaughter you, Hooded Hood,” the Parody Master declared. “For too long you have preened and posed as if you were of consequence in this Parodyverse. I’m going to show you your true place in life, grovelling brokenly before me, begging for the mercy of death.” “I think not,” the Hood replied. “I believe it would be better were you to allow the lady and I to depart unmolested.” The Parody Master guffawed. None of this schemer’s retcons could affect him now, in the moment of his triumph. “You do, do you? And why should I allow you to depart unmolested with my bride?” “Because I am holding the Galactic Nobbler, the Universal Discombobulator,” replied the Hooded Hood. “I retrieved it from the Heralds of Galactivac a while back.” “That was discharged when Galactivac was destroyed,” the Parody Master sneered. “That which was destroyed can be recreated,” the Shaper of Worlds spoke; and suddenly the aura of her power filled the chamber. “When Galactivac is again whole, so too is the weapon of his undoing. Let it be!” “Indeed,” said the Hooded Hood. “So I wonder, Parody Master, will even your perfect, prophecy-suffused body be able to withstand the energies of a device created to wipe out the Living Death That Sucks? Or will you be back to square one, disembodied, mindless, hopeless, your ambitions of conquest once more crushed by those you count as your inferiors?” “I have to admit, you’re very good at this,” Jury confessed to the Hood. “I get a lot of practise,” the archvillain replied. “You may wish to retreat through the Portal of Pretentiousness now. I don’t believe you could survive a detonation of the Nobbler either.” Jury glanced at the mirror that was behind them. Surely only a primal artefact forged by the combined wills of the divine pantheons at the dawn of the Parodyverse could have defied the Parody Master’s blockade of the iron fortress. “Can you survive it?” she asked him. “No,” the Hood replied. “But somebody has to trigger the device if the Parody Master isn’t reasonable.” “Then give it to me,” Jury commanded. “It is my duty to preserve my office, and I would gladly die to stop that beast.” “You called me, madam. I shall intervene as I see best. Through the portal please.” “Not without you,” Jury declared. “I already owe you a big enough favour, without letting you die for me.” It was a strange impasse, Hood and Shaper and Parody Master locked in a dynamic triangle around the stubby black weapon that could destroy anything. “You are no hero, Hood,” the Parody Master proclaimed. “I know you. You are bluffing.” “Then you do not know me,” answered the cowled crime czar. He turned suddenly and pushed Jury through the Portal. Then he loosed the trigger on the Galactic Nobbler. Nothing happened. The Hooded Hood dropped the weapon and dived through his Portal of Pretentiousness. It blinked away as the Parody Master seared the back out of Thugos’ iron fortress with a single burst of energy. Then the Nobbler exploded.  The Hooded Hood picked himself off the floor of Herringcarp Asylum, dusted himself down, and straightened his grey robes. “Would you care for a drink, madam?” he asked the Shaper of Worlds.“You seem very calm for a man who just tried to commit suicide,” Jury told him. She accepted the brandy, and her hands had trouble not shaking. “It was hardly suicide. A calculated gamble, perhaps.” “You had guessed that I could create a timed trigger mechanism in the Nobbler where there had been none before,” the Shaper of Worlds, mistress of creation, surmised. “Indeed. The question was whether you would do so,” the Hood replied. “You might have chosen to eliminate two nuisances at once.” Jury smiled. “In how many timelines did I actually do that?” she wondered. “How many did you have to retcon to get the result you required?” The Hood clinked his glass to hers. “None,” he told her. “I’m very touched.” “But you would have done?” Jury persisted. “But of course. Am I not…” “The Hooded Hood,” she concluded. “Yes you are.” She looked around her. “So what happens now? I have to find what’s become of the Chronicler… and Thugos. Put right the damage the Parody Master caused…” “It is not over yet,” the Hood warned her. “Not this time.” He gestured and the mirrored darkness of the Portal of Pretentiousness rippled to show them the devastation that had formerly been the conceptual plane, the place of destiny. The armies of the Parody Master were gone, the countless legions of avawarriors and their vast war machines consumed by the fury of the Nobbler. But shielded still by its own radiance the Anarchy Forge yet burned, stoked by the fanatical priests of the Parody Master. “Look,” the cowled crime czar warned. “They are already forging him a new body. A better body. Maybe even his true form. All that has been lost to him he can recreate. And quickly. This was not the war’s end, but rather it’s beginning.” “The Heart of Stories,” Jury blurted. “It’s here. On Earth.” She stifled herself from confessing everything to her rescuer. After all, this was the Hooded Hood, who had a habit of taking over the Parodyverse when his schemes demanded it. “He’ll be coming for it,” she warned. “For you.” She shuddered. “For me.” “Then we had best prepare,” the Hooded Hood replied. “This is clearly a job for heroes. Tomorrow you had best go and visit Sir Mumphrey Wilton and the Lair Legion.” He smiled to himself as he suggested it. It appealed to his sense of humour. “The Parody Master has fought the Legion before. I’m sure both sides will be properly motivated to give of their best.” “Tomorrow?” Jury asked the archvillain. “Why not tonight?” “Well now that,” the Hooded Hood told her, his eyes twinkling not with power but with mischief, “depends on whether my blandishments to entrance the hearts of young ladies are better than the Parody Master’s.” Next time: From the cosmic to the cunning, Untold Tales begins its Undercover arc, where nothing is what it seems and danger lurks behind every deception. Politics, intrigue, murder, and romance come together in Plots and Ruses, coming soon.A Place of Footnotes and Destiny: The Triumverate are collectively the three most powerful of the cosmic office-holders appointed to maintain the Parodyverse. Each was formerly a mortal, but has now transcended humanity to become their role. All the office holders hold immense power limited by the role they must play, and specialised in the function they undertake. In addition to the Triumverate there are an unspecified number of minor offices, such as Custodian of the Booke of the Law (Lisa Waltz), Keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity (Mumphrey Wilton), and Binder of Alliances (Holy Wedlock). Some minor office holders also reside on the Conceptual Plane. The Triumverate are: The Shaper of Worlds role is to initiate new narrative strands in the many parallel timelines of the Parodyverse. Based in the House of Ideas on the narrative plane she is served by her Goldfish of Inspiration and sculpts new concepts to loose into the worlds of mortals. After the mysterious disappearance of former Shaper Carrington, the office was handed to a new incumbent now called Jury. Formerly a girlfriend of founder Legionnaire Jarvis she was killed in a car crash through the manipulations of Jarvis’ first wife Lo-Chi, but was preserved to take on the role of Shaper of Worlds. She still maintains animosity towards those who caused her death, towards those who destroyed Jarvis, and towards Lisa L. Waltz (herself a minor cosmic office-holder). Being new in her office, Jury is still wrestling with her duties, and has occasionally fallen foul of the manipulations of the Hooded Hood and the Paradox Stranger. Her major attempt to destroy the Hood almost caused the destruction of the Parodyverse and required her to recruit the Hood’s help to avert disaster.The Destroyer of Stories is the cosmic office-holder charged with bringing all things to an end. The former office-holder, Samhain, fought the Lair Legion on several occasions. After his apparent destruction, the appointment went to Dark Thugos, Tyrant of the Sol Empire, master of the Entropy Eyebeams, a the craggy-countanced alternate-reality son of the Hooded Hood. After being forced from his original reality, Thugos conquered a sizeable portion of the prime Parodyverse, including the Skree Empire, before being killed and recruited as the new Destroyer of Tales. He is served in his Iron Fortress by a cast of thousands of undead, necro-priests, and stormtroopers. He is a worshipper of Death (who doesn't fancy him). The Chronicler of Stories is the celestial office bestowed upon one who monitors and records the events of the Parodyverse. The current Chronicler is Greg Burch (or not; as he once bitterly complained: “There is no Greg, His ghost became the Chronicler of Stories, and his body became the Dark Knight… but Greg is dead.”). The Chronicler works through his hall of mirrors in his Halls of Destiny, served by his dimensions-spanning ravens (including head raven Pallas and rookie Quoth). The Parody Master is one of the Lair Legion’s oldest enemies. In the real old days the LL’s rogues gallery was pretty much Baron Zemo, Peter von Doom, various comic-book creators, Mr T, and the Parody Master, and PM was the one to really watch out for, their first truly serious threat. Something between a renegade primal force and homicidal conqueror, he has pretty much do-anything abilities, limitless endurance and strength, the ability to reorder time and space to his liking, and an infinite army of tough drone Avatar Warriors. His only weakness is that he must manifest by possessing a host body, and sometimes strong-willed hosts have been able to influence his motives and methods and weak hosts have caused him to imperfectly incarnate. His role within the cosmic order remains unexplained, but he has been summoned to uphold the edicts of the Triumverate and the Celestian Space Robots. However, he also operates independently, and tends to cruelty and tyranny. The fully-powered Parody Master is a match for really major cosmic forces like the Triumverate (Shaper of Worlds, Chronicler of Stories, Destroyer of Tales), Galactivac, or the Celestian Space Robots. However, his more human motives and sometimes petty villainy leave him more vulnerable to being thwarted than other cosmic beings.The Galactic Nobbler (a.k.a. the Universal Discombobulator et. al.) is one of the primal artefacts of the Parodyverse, an indestructible device designed as a final failsafe against the planet-hungers of Galactivac, the Living Death That Sucks. When it was recently used it took out all matter for a thousand light years in every direction. The Nobbler’s power was drained since it’s function was fulfilled. That now seems to have changed due to the Shaper’s influence, and the implication is that to do that Galactivac must have been returned to life. The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Who's Who in the Parodyverse Where's Where in the Parodyverse  Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2005 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2005 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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