moby-dick-(or-the-whale)-40
alt_bar

BABYLONIAN TALES

10 February 2007

Marduk stared his enemy in the eye and straightened his flawlessly kempt tapestry beard. The Cyclops giant in front of him prowled around his sparsely lit abode, circling the Babylonian hero-god. Marduk's fist was red hot from the punch he had administered moments ago in a failed attempt to smash the brute's eye out of its socket.

'Is that all you can do?' He rumbled. 'Walking hither and thither giving me the worst look your unibrow can muster?,

'YOU, MINE,' The creature managed to squeeze through his sub-optimally evolved vocal chords. 'LITTLE, FLESH, INSECT,'

Marduk raised his scalding poker of a fist and prepared another ultimate blow. The Cyclops, anticipating the retry, raised his own sinewy but surprisingly powerful meathooks. In response, Marduk placed a firm sandal in the carpet layer of sand in the cave and dived at his foe. The dreaded strands of his mighty beard jumped up and down as the dash gained in velocity.

Marduk wasn't the sort of person to throw a casual battle yell or vicious taunt at his adversary before landing an attempted death blow. He was the alpha alpha male; he didn't break the mold -he was the mold. Except, inversed of course. The anti-mold. Regardless: a supernatural middle-aged man whose sheer force of will caused his physical peak to linger where the years had begun their embarrassed slog downhill. And certainly not the one to be pre-occupied with nonsense like style and flair. Such effeminite notions were anathema to Marduk.

And neither would it have surprised any onlookers that were not, but might have been, present in the cave when the hero-god's scorched brick of a fist was not stopped at all by the cushion of meat that comprised the arms of the Cyclops protectively held up in defense of his singular eyeball. Rather, the clenched ball of flame burst through them as if they were gossamer cloth instead of rugged beastflesh wrapped around solid bone. The Cyclops' unique ocular apparatus burst in a torrent of goop landing insouciantly on the sand, and yet it was not enough for the violent child of myth called Marduk.

'EYE, BURNING,!' The Cyclops roared in utter confusion and mad pain.

'It's just lying there on the floor, you big pansy.' Stated Marduk matter-of-factly. He could be such a pestering man at times.

And with this waste of words -which did not count as taunt for reasons of not trying to be suave or witty with it- he punched through to the miniature cluster of lobes inside the giant's head. The brain exploded with as much gusto as the eyeball had mere seconds ago and the ensuing violent thrashings of the Cyclops ended shortly after they began their useless agenda of what must have been burrowing, if the erratic motions were to be suspected of having a point.

Marduk gave all this not a second's thought, shaking the mucus from his hand -which was thankfully simmering down- instead. He looked around the cave. This used to be a quaint homestead, before it had been devastated by the epic fight. Too bad for missus Cyclops, he mused not completely bereft of a sense of rudimentary humour. But it was back to Babylon for Marduk. Back to the tedious life of being revered, of people throwing slippery rosebuds under his sandals and vapid maidens into his bed chamber. Back to the boring drudgeries of daily life.

No, Marduk would much rather spend his life like the too-short encounter of moments ago: dangerous, brutal and with a clear enemy right in sight. He was the hero-god. He was the mold. Only inversed.

Roderick.