####
Africa,
"They'd better pay up." Marshall sat cross-legged on the raft, Marty beside him, joined by Selene. "Dinosians found electricity thanks to the damn thing."
"Master, I could have gone myself. It's just some Vibranium."
"Hell no! Last time you waddled back with that demon's diary. I want no tentacles trying to probe my ass again. I'll get them rocks myself," Marshall declared, the horrors of that tentacle monster were still alive.
Selene, the once famed Dark Priestess, pouted. "It wasn't my fault. I thought you'd like it. Lady Hela did."
"Yeah, after I carved up that slimy tentacle bastard," Marshall barked and looked at Marty. "So what's your excuse? Why now? I thought you'd abandoned me while you sat on your fat ass in goddamn Dinosia."
"Grawff!"
"You did? What the… You can do that?" Marshall exclaimed. "Who taught you?"
"Growr!"
"Logan? That pup? He knows how to read and write. Color me floored. So, what's next? Did he teach you something beyond scribbling A to Z?"
Marty nodded and growled.
"Numbers too? Sweet Jesus, what are you gonna—"
Marshall stopped speaking midway through and sniffed intensely. Marty did the same.
"What happened?" Selene asked them.
Marshall stopped the raft and sniffed harder. "I can smell… burning… flesh… human."
Quickly, he looked down from the raft and saw smoke rising. There were somewhere around central Africa, so it was all green there, trees for as far as one could see. And that made it even more surprising.
"Let's take a look," Marshall said and descended the raft. Like usual, he made space for the raft to land by flattening some trees. By doing that, the reason for the smoke and that smell also became clear.
Click!
Right away, multiple guns were pointed at Marshall. There were three white men in military uniform, holding rifles, then there were ten more men holding rifles, but they were dark skinned, mostly naked, their faces tattooed and teeth sharpened artificially.
And then there was a large pit, inside it were more dark skinned men and women, each one had either a hand missing or a foot. They were dead, and their corpses were burning.
"What the fuck's going on here?" Marshall questioned and walked towards the rifle-holding men.
Bang!
They shot their rifles. But the bullets never came out, and the muzzles exploded.
"Aaaa!"
The ten face-tattooed local men tried to jump Marshall. With a mere thought, he had them kneeling by telekinesis. Then, finally, he reached the three white men standing scared.
"Care to explain? No? Ah, shit, bastards pissed themselves!" Marshall stepped back in disgust. "You know what, just die. I'll fry your brains while reading them."
He probed their minds using telepathy and read them so intensely and so fast that the chances of survival were zero. In an instant, he started learning about names, the reason why they were there, and what they were doing.
"King Leopold of Belgium?" Marshall repeated. "He owns this land?"
"Master, what are they doing here?" Selene asked curiously.
Poof!
Marshall sneered and exploded the three heads. Then he looked at the ten face-tattooed men and exploded their heads as well, massacring them all.
"Clusterfuck. That's the only goddamn word. Some royal hemorrhoid named Leopold of Belgium scored this land in a drunk card game called the Berlin Conference. A bunch of powdered wig dickheads carved up Africa. The guy who got this land grabbed all the locals, enslaved them, and put them to harvesting ivory and rubber," Marshall explained.
"Just a handful of them. The real army consists of these tooth-filed, face-inked psychos called the Zappo Zap. Straight cannibals. Pillagers. Knife-happy shitbags. Leopold signed them up to keep everyone shitting their pants. And if you don't deliver enough rubber? They hack off your hands and feet."
"What?" Selene frowned. While she was no stranger to human sacrifices, she never ate them. "That's—"
"Where's my damn cut?!" Marshall shouted.
"..."
Selene and Marty looked at him strangely.
"Crusty dickheads met up, chopped Africa into pieces, my goddamn land, minted gold, didn't even ask? Bite me!" Marshall spat and leapt onto his raft with Marty and Selene. "Change of plans, we're off to Belgium."
####
Brussels, Royal Castle of Laeken,
Boom!
It wasn't a good day for Belgium.
It wasn't a good day for the Belgian royal family.
Marshall crashed straight into the royal castle's dome, destroying it with his fucking raft. It was like an earthquake.
"Leo? Where the fuck are you?" Marshall roared.
"Wraaaaa!" Marty roared.
"Yeah, where are you?" Selene… tried to roar. "Wait, I can find him. I've got magic."
She weaved some sort of spell, and a flashing light guided them through the massive castle. Of course, some guards came in their way, but seeing a Viking-like man, a T-Rex smashing through walls, and a big-breasted leather-wrapped woman floating in the air, most guards just ran away.
"In there!" Selene pointed at a door.
Bam!
Marshall kicked the door open and walked inside. It was occupied by five men, all had pretty mustaches and wore military uniforms with golden medals. They were nobles or kings. Right away, he pointed at the one with a long white beard.
"You!" Marshall stormed towards the man. "I saw what you're doing in Africa. You wrinkly old cunt carved my land! Without asking! You dug up gold! Where the hell's my slice? That's the law, as old as time! First Man owns the whole damn globe!"
"F-First M-Man?!"
All five men jumped to their feet.
Marshall sneered towards the one who took his name. "You are?"
"Ah, I'm Wilhelm, E-Emperor of Germany."
"Look at that, Leo." Marshall grabbed the old Belgian King by the throat and raised him. "Having a cocksucking party at your palace with your incest-born brothers?"
"P-Please… We can have… a word." King Leopold groaned, his old bones cracking, his accent thick.
Marshall didn't bother and looked back at Wilhelm. "You knew what this shit's doing in Africa?"
"N-No… What did he d–"
Pooof!
Wilhelm II, German Emperor, King of Prussia, had his head obliterated to blood mist.
Thud!
"Motherfucker thought I couldn't read minds? That sack of shit's pulling the same crap in his colonies… just not as rotten as you, Leo." Marshall glared back at the Belgian fossil. "Guess what… I know the perfect assholes who'd gleefully staple your name to history's balls."
Woosh!
Without bothering to tell Marty and Selene anything, Marshall flew away, out of the window, the Belgian King still in his grasp.
Left behind, Selene sighed.
"Why is Master wasting time with all this? Weren't we just here to take our share?" Selene asked, looking up at the big T-Rex. "What do you think, Marty? Master's angry because the King's evil, right?"
Marty just rolled his eyes, waving his little T-Rex arms for a shrug.
Despite having lived together that long, Marty didn't know if Marshall was really evil or just so stupid that he did the right thing even while being evil. In any case, if that was being evil, it wasn't so bad.
####
England, Windsor Castle,
BOOM!
Another ceiling of a royal castle was broken in.
Thud!
Marshall landed on his feet, the old King of Belgium still alive, but with a few broken bones, as Marshall had flown so fast.
"Where is she?"
The guards were there. They saw Marshall. They flinched, but surprisingly, they returned to standing in attention, as if nothing had happened.
"Sir, this way please."
"..."
"Me?" Marshall was shocked by that treatment. It was usually swords and guns aimed at him. But now there was this Alfred-looking man bowing to him and gesturing to him to follow.
"Of course, esteemed First Man. Her Majesty has been informed. She awaits you in her office."
"Alright."
Shhhh~
Marshall didn't hold King Leopold high anymore. He just grabbed the old King's hand and dragged him behind like a ragdoll.
"Uuuuh… S-Save… m-meh…"
The butler looked at the old man, and asked with as much respect as he could. "I mean no disrespect, Your Holiness…. Who might this be? I merely hope to inform Her Majesty of the guest."
"This guy?" Marshall yanked the arm. "Name's Leo. Caught the filthy bastard committing genocide in Africa, enslaving the people, chopping off arms and legs if they didn't harvest enough for him. Ran a whole private army. Snatched his royal ass straight out of his crumbling piss-palace."
"..."
The butler choked up, realizing that the man being dragged was most certainly a royal. He just didn't know which one.
"By the way, Alfred. Good soldiers, they didn't shoot at me."
The butler frowned, confused by that new name. Honestly, he loved it since a literal god named him. "Oh, Your Holiness, the entire British military has a rule-book that details your holy presence in our world. They're all trained to treat you with respect and reverence."
"Sweet stuff, Al. Expected nothing less after I fucked George's queen."
The butler frowned, wondering which George it was that got his wife fucked by the god. There were sadly too many damn Georges.
"This way, just past this door." The butler opened the door.
"Wait." Marshall stopped at the open doorframe. He could see a woman inside, sitting behind a table. "Alfred, what's her name?"
The butler looked into the room, at the Queen, and then at Marshall. "S-She is Her Majesty, the queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and empress of India—"
"Goddammit, Al, chop-chop, I ain't here to wed my son to her. Just the name."
"Her Majesty Victoria, your holiness!"
"Good." Marshall patted the old butler's bald head and walked into the old Queen's office, dragging Leopol's groaning body.
"Your reverence, First Man." Queen Victoria bowed her head. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Holy shit!" Marshall barked, finally noticing. "Wait, you've been standing? All this time? Sweet mother of incest, you're fun-sized."
"..."
Queen Victoria froze, frowning, wondering how to respond to that.
"How can we help you?"
All of a sudden, a man spoke. A man that Marshall hadn't even noticed before. Standing in a corner, he was brown, dressed differently from the attire of everyone around that castle.
"You are?"
"I am Abdul Karim, Sir."
Queen Victoria frowned at that more than Marshall's disrespect. The decorum learned and followed for generations was to treat Marshall like a god. Abdul wasn't doing that.
"Abdul? You from the Ottomans?" Marshall asked.
"No, Sir. I'm from India."
"Ah!" Marshall frowned, looked at the Queen, and then at the man. "Ha! You're licking boots for the same hag who's got your whole country enslaved by the balls? Damn, that's some Olympic-level ass-kissing. But I respect the hustle."
"..."
Only the ticking clock could be heard for some time.
"Ugghh~"
King Leopol's groan woke them up.
"Please, have a seat, Your Holiness." Queen Victoria offered.
"No time," Marshall said and pulled King Leopold up, and threw him on the chair. "This guy's Leo of Belgium or something. Caught him doing wild things in Africa. Wait a sec, I'll show it to you straight."
Marshall probed Queen Victoria's mind and showed her the images from Africa. Not just what he'd seen but the images from the heads of the soldiers he'd killed in Africa.
"Oh!" Queen Victoria panted and fell on her seat when Marshall stopped. "T-That…"
"What did you do?" Abdul rushed to the Queen's aid.
"Jesus balls, dude! Her crusty ass can't be worth all that simpering, grow a damn spine or something." Marshall cursed the guy for overreacting. "Anyway, I'm leaving Leo here. Torture him, break him. Use those newspapers, post pictures, show the world what Leo did. Then execute him. Ah, I found Wilhelm in his castle, too, and killed him for being an accomplice. Blast his name across the damn sky, too."
"..."
Victoria choked on that command.
"And one more thing! From now on, any country that has colonies must pay me thirty percent tax for allowing you maggots to reap from my goddamn land! Thirty percent, each year. Miss a payment, and I'll flatten your bloodlines and parliaments."
Boom!
He didn't go through the door. Just flew straight up and out of the ceiling.
"Merciful heavens… we are doomed. He demands that we take up arms against Belgium and Germany." Queen Victoria felt like passing out. "W-We're doomed."
"My Queen." Abdul was there to help her with a cup of water.
"Silence!" Victoria fumed, latching onto the nearest thing she could blame. "This is your doing. You defied decorum and provoked his wrath."
"..."
####
Back in Belgium, Marshall landed at the castle again. This time, he flattened the entire castle, bagged all the gold he could find as payment, and then left on the raft with Marty and Selene.
"Alright, now we go to Wakanda," Marshall muttered, sitting cross-legged, a massive bag of loot sitting behind him.
"Master, aren't Wakandans close to Congo? Why didn't they stop Leo?" Selene asked. "They have the means."
"Hmph!" Marshall scoffed. "Do you know what sissy means?"
"No, Master."
"Bitchass?"
"I've never heard that before, Master."
"Yeah, Wakandans are all that. They love to scream about their glorious African pride, rituals, and ancestral jazz hands. But when Africa's in danger, they shove their heads up their own asses and act blind. That's Wakanda for you." Marshall spat venom so hard even Selene wondered if Wakandans would go extinct down the line. Her Master really hated them.
"Gruff!"
"See, even Marty agrees," Marshall said, and enjoyed the warm Mediterranean breeze.
Bang!
Right then, they heard a distant bang. Thankfully, there was no burning smell this time.
Quickly, Marshall looked down and recognized where he was. They were flying over Greece, particularly Athens.
"Looks like a festival," Marshall muttered, and felt his stomach empty. "Wakandans can wait, we eat first!"
Once again, he lowered the raft and landed it right in the middle of the large field where people were gathered. There were so many flags flying around there, and the crowd was intense.
"Where's the food?"
But when they landed, Marshall realized something. It looked less like a festival and more like a tournament of sorts. The arena was oval in shape, the stands filled with people, already screaming towards him.
In a few moments, a few men came running towards him; the man in the lead supported a mustache and bowed all the way on his knees.
"Most revered First Man, what gift could surpass this for the first Olympics?" The man prayed. "I'm Charles Pierre de Frédy. I am deeply honored."
"Olympics?" Marshall looked around and noticed the various athletes in the distance. "First? I've been to them in the past. What was it? Ugh… Elis?"
"Ah, oui, oui!" Charles bobbed his head with delight. "The city-state of Elis, birthplace of the first Olympics of old. How extraordinary. To welcome you here is truly a joy."
Marshall nodded. "What're you doing today?"
"Ah, the games. At present, it is the shot put, most honored. Shall we watch it together?"
"No, I'll try a throw. Always wanted to try the Olympics again." Marshall murmured and started stretching his arm. "Marty, watch me win a gold medal."
Quickly, Marshall was led to the shot put location. All the athletes stepped aside, and Marshall was told about the rules. Then he picked up the metal ball.
"Marty, how far should I throw?"
"Ruff~"
"High? Oh, look! A shooting star!"
All looked up at the sky, and there was indeed a bright shooting star.
"Here we go!" Marshall put all his strength into it and threw the metal ball aimed at the star.
Woosh!
Boom!
The sonic boom almost shattered eardrums. Dust got blown in every direction. The ground around Marshall was ruined.
Yet, nobody reacted. They were still staring at the sky. Marshall did the same.
"Hm? Where's the damn shooting star?" He asked.
"Your Holiness, I beg pardon… You struck the shooting star," the Frenchman blurted.
"Huh? I did?"
####
Meanwhile, in the sky.
Boom!
"What was that?!"
"We're hit!"
"We're losing altitude!"
"No! We must not fail! Alert Lord Ronan now! We've been attacked. In this primitive hole of all places."
___________________
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