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The Climber

The Climber

A man set out to climb the highest mountain.

Now this guy did all the homework. Everyone who tried to make the climb failed. Their corpses littered the path to the top. So he got some allies to go with him.

At first light, he set off up the mountain. The paths were easy to follow, well-trodden by those who’d come before.

Corpses, remember.

That initial success soon became a memory after his first ally fell victim to the temperature dropping. Frostbite.

The dark clouds grew darker as they continued to ascend. They fell like dominos at that point, one struck by lightning, another blown clear off a cliff face. Each time one died, the climber kept on climbing, because he refused to be defeated by the undefeatable mountain.

But that was the thing. His allies? They weren’t killed by the mountain. It’s just a big fucking rock.

No, they were killed by the storm surrounding it.

See, I look at Banzan and all I see is another big fucking rock. He’s stupid as one, anyways. The whole world looks at him like he’s this unstoppable force, the Mountain that no man can climb.

Every time somebody steps up to the plate and tries to climb, they end up dead, don’t they? That’s his whole thing.

But the truth is that it sure as hell ain’t the mountain that kills them.

It’s the storm that surrounds him. It’s made up of whisper and rumor of his true nature, of the power he wields. It’s the absolute fact that if you stand upon that mountain, you die.

Banzan believes he’s the mountain, and all of these people die because of him for some reason.

But the truth is that he’s just another man, trying to climb an unclimbable mountain. His allies have all fallen, yet onward he goes. Every step he takes is another close to the summit, the enlightenment beyond the clouds.

Sorry, big man, but that’s the moral of the tale of the climber: He prepared to face the mountain, but he forgot about the storm.

You forgot about me, Banzan.

You had your early success, but then it all turned dark. Aesop, Alice, Helvig, even fucking Darklord. They allied with you, and what happened to them?

All your allies. All dead.

Every time you turn your head to realize you’re alone, what do you see?

Me.

We’ve danced this dance so many times, and you always seem to escape to continue your climb. How many have fallen by the wayside while the two of us just keep warring? Yet there you go.

But I’m on your ass. I always will be. You’ll never rise above me. The storm has come for you.

The Thunder heralds my entrance.

The Lightning Strike spotlights your weakness.

The Downpour drowns you in defeat.

And as you join your allies in death, I beg you to look Ole Hollywood in the eye. Because it’s only in the eye of the storm that you will know that I am who I say I am.

The Real fucking Deal.

Then, and only then, will you be Real fucking Dead!