"All right, Bobble Heads. I believe that's the train on its way back! That must mean we won, and Isle wont be destroyed. I know what you're all thinking: LAAAAAAAAME. For those in the audience that were friends or family of the Destroyer, sorry guys. But hey, maybe we're lucky, and everyone who made it back was horribly mutated by the RADICAL MAGICAL ENERGIES and they'll be like, cooler than they were. I'm thinking Teenage Mutant Ninja Wizards. Three eyes, four arms, Gren's actually cool for once and doesn't have a creepy thing for a talking unicorn.. SKY'S THE LIMIT. MAGIC AND MAYHEM, TOTAL ANARCHY, AND ONLY ON BOB.ELDRITCH.CO.RDI!" Serious voice time: "Remember, for the best fanfic, latest news on the city in the center of the universe and, starting next week, MAD EXPERIMENTS WITH THE ONE AND ONLY SKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID, check back daily! That's bob dot eldritch dot co dot rdi. Thanks!"
The camera streamed live over the internet straight from the Isle courtesy of Bob, whose blog was hosting a 'Where Will You Be When The Isle Ends?' event. At that very moment, Bob's blog had almost a million concurrent viewers (mostly in the other dimensions of existence where reality shattering events like this were akin to the Super Bowl, complete with commercials, betting, and an absurd fascination with tailgating and half time shows. You haven't TRULY witnessed the end of a world until you've taken a break half way through to watch Eldritch Michael Jackson sing "Cthulhu Jean Is Not My Lover" with dancers dressed as tentacles doing the shimmy-shimmy, all while you shotgun beer and snack on corn dogs and burgers). This number didn't include all the people restreaming it to places Bob couldn't reach, or the live television coverage in any number of Hells which, as was their practice, weren't going to pay him a dime for all the work. Long story short; this is one of the bigger nights for the blog, surpassed only by the time he got pictures of Claire Farron in a string bikini and when he posted news of Rick Spade's impending death and offered bets on when it'd happen (for those playing along at home, Rick was still alive, but had recently discovered he couldn't sell his soul off to anyone because some mystery chick had collected all his favors down below and scared everyone into avoiding him like a bum on payday).
"Okay, heeeeere they areeeee... let's see what we have." The camera zoomed in on the train as it slowed. Bob wasn't that far away, having picked a nice hill to camp out on. Beyond the heroes and the train were the portals, which flickered bizarrely, unnaturally. The massive wave that was following the train was just off screen; seemingly, Bob didn't notice it, too focused on the heroes disembarking. When he was focused, he was pretty oblivious to everything else.
"Wellll ... sadly, most of them look QUITE normal. No mutations. One or two missing. BUT HEY, CHECK THAT. GHOST GRACE!!! Who ya gunna call? GHOST GRACE...STERS!!! So that's pretty cool. Oh, and loo--" A noise like static started to break up the audio of the camera. Bob noticed, though if he said anything it was lost. The camera swung down the track to capture the MASSIVE WAVE INCOMING.
Bob may or may not have cursed before he started hauling his little Bob butt to the portals off the Isle. NOW he noticed they were losing substance. "AND THIS IS WHY YOU PAY GOBLINS TO DO THE CAMERA WORK!" He was a lot further away then anyone else and, not wanting to annoy his fans, he tried to keep the camera filming. One by one, the others went through while Bob raced closer. One by one, the portals got less and less substantial. The wireless connection that let Bob stream to the outside world started to die, and the stream stuttered, paused, and jerked as lost packets never made their way to the other side.
The last of the heroes went through just as Bob got close. He leaped, aiming for one of the last portals -- it vanished -- and he went through, landing on the other side, still on the Isle. He turned around just in time to catch the massive wave coming down on him.
For a moment, the audio was crystal clear. "Oh poop." Then all was static and the connection lost.
The camera streamed live over the internet straight from the Isle courtesy of Bob, whose blog was hosting a 'Where Will You Be When The Isle Ends?' event. At that very moment, Bob's blog had almost a million concurrent viewers (mostly in the other dimensions of existence where reality shattering events like this were akin to the Super Bowl, complete with commercials, betting, and an absurd fascination with tailgating and half time shows. You haven't TRULY witnessed the end of a world until you've taken a break half way through to watch Eldritch Michael Jackson sing "Cthulhu Jean Is Not My Lover" with dancers dressed as tentacles doing the shimmy-shimmy, all while you shotgun beer and snack on corn dogs and burgers). This number didn't include all the people restreaming it to places Bob couldn't reach, or the live television coverage in any number of Hells which, as was their practice, weren't going to pay him a dime for all the work. Long story short; this is one of the bigger nights for the blog, surpassed only by the time he got pictures of Claire Farron in a string bikini and when he posted news of Rick Spade's impending death and offered bets on when it'd happen (for those playing along at home, Rick was still alive, but had recently discovered he couldn't sell his soul off to anyone because some mystery chick had collected all his favors down below and scared everyone into avoiding him like a bum on payday).
"Okay, heeeeere they areeeee... let's see what we have." The camera zoomed in on the train as it slowed. Bob wasn't that far away, having picked a nice hill to camp out on. Beyond the heroes and the train were the portals, which flickered bizarrely, unnaturally. The massive wave that was following the train was just off screen; seemingly, Bob didn't notice it, too focused on the heroes disembarking. When he was focused, he was pretty oblivious to everything else.
"Wellll ... sadly, most of them look QUITE normal. No mutations. One or two missing. BUT HEY, CHECK THAT. GHOST GRACE!!! Who ya gunna call? GHOST GRACE...STERS!!! So that's pretty cool. Oh, and loo--" A noise like static started to break up the audio of the camera. Bob noticed, though if he said anything it was lost. The camera swung down the track to capture the MASSIVE WAVE INCOMING.
Bob may or may not have cursed before he started hauling his little Bob butt to the portals off the Isle. NOW he noticed they were losing substance. "AND THIS IS WHY YOU PAY GOBLINS TO DO THE CAMERA WORK!" He was a lot further away then anyone else and, not wanting to annoy his fans, he tried to keep the camera filming. One by one, the others went through while Bob raced closer. One by one, the portals got less and less substantial. The wireless connection that let Bob stream to the outside world started to die, and the stream stuttered, paused, and jerked as lost packets never made their way to the other side.
The last of the heroes went through just as Bob got close. He leaped, aiming for one of the last portals -- it vanished -- and he went through, landing on the other side, still on the Isle. He turned around just in time to catch the massive wave coming down on him.
For a moment, the audio was crystal clear. "Oh poop." Then all was static and the connection lost.