Odd God

Odd God(modder)

The Godmodder stirred in his computer chair, his eyes blinking one after the other, out of sync. He had sat in his chair, glued to his computer monitor, for so long that cobwebs and dust had begun coalescing onto his body, creating a suit of armor upon which dust mites could travel at whim. It was like an amusement park of disgust. The Godmodder stirred upwards, shaking all of the dust out of his chair and simultaneously destroying an entire dust mite empire. He smacked his lips, deprived of all the necessary ingredients for life to persist because he was obsessed with computers.

He set up a bot to fight the Descendants while he was out, putting on his coat and going out the door. Along the way he grabbed a fedora from his open eye socket and tipped it to Build. "M'aster," he uttered coolly, completely ignoring Build's panicked attempts to get the Godmodder to unchain him from the machine constantly splaying his limbs out at odd angles in an attempt to get as close as possible to ripping them off without actually doing so. The Godmodder stepped out of Richard Mansion and got in his car, going from 0 to 60 in less time than it takes the OP Scale to roll over.

Along the way, he ignored all traffic safety laws, running over fire hydrants and therefore creating fires. He killed about nine innocent pedestrians, all wearing gray cloaks, but it was okay, because they happened to be avid researchers of living after death. As such, they formed the Council of Nine, and constantly loomed behind the Godmodder as specters, waiting to create misfortune in his life. The Godmodder had his eyes closed on the wheel, paying no attention to actually driving, as he was too busy trying to derive sexual pleasure from the Crazy Bus theme song, which was playing on the radio because of 901.0 FM, a station focused solely on earrape - and occasionally, actual rape.

The Godmodder parked over a mountain of dead horses, which had been beaten to death by gorillas that constantly laughed to themselves. Every gorilla had a college degree in the study of metaphors and symbolism. He staggered to his final destination, the Department of Complaining About Your Name. The Godmodder stumbled to the receptionist at the desk, who was a figure with white hair and a black robe that had glasses and a scarf covering their head. "Hello," the figure said. "I am Erelye. I mean, uh, I'm Stanford Pines. Wait, no, I'm the Scribe." The Godmodder pulled out a gleaming pistol from his pocket. "No, you're dead." The expy's brains promptly splattered all over their computer monitor, the life hissing out of his eyes as his head slammed on the keyboard, inadvertently mashing it into oblivion.

The Godmodder hopped the desk, robbed the cash register, and burned all the money. He then kicked down the front door of reality and entered the actual Department of Complaining About Your Name. The designated Person That Will Listen to Your Complaints About Your Name was Death, but it was Fseftr's incarnation of him. You know, the one that spoke in caps. "WELL, THIS BEATS THE AFTERLIFE, DOESN'T IT!" The Godmodder rolled his eyes. "No. Anyway, I'm here for two reasons. One - do you have a glowing blue dick."

Death took this as a challenge, disrobing and revealing his perfectly erect ectoplasmic phallus, shivering in the cold and naked air. The Godmodder took out his pistol and snapped it in half, revealing a pocket knife. He then sliced Death's penis off, but it was okay, because it was basically a strap-on. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT? I CAN'T EXACTLY LET YOU LEAVE WITH MY PROPERTY." The Godmodder turned into Dickman, gaining bedroom eyes and flapping his eyebrows up and down at a rate that would increase until [S] Arrive dropped - so, into infinity. This made him an object of instant sex appeal, and before the Godmodder knew it, a legion of Godmodderas swarmed around them.

The Godmodder merely flipped them off and sucked them all into his Godarm. His left arm was now composed of the writhing bodies of thousands of genderbent copies of himself. Satisfied, the Godmodder sat down and actually began to talk to Death. "The reason I'm here is because some idiotic fuck has legally changed my name to 'the Good Mood.' I want to know why, and how." Death shrugged, at the same time pulling out a stack of files. "YOU'RE THE GODMODDER. CAN'T YOU JUST CHANGE IT YOURSELF?" The Godmodder snapped. "No, because that would mean accepting that my legal name is Richard, and Richard is a dead man. I'm the Godmodder/Psycopath Godmodder/Lightning Godmodder/Squidmodder/Weaselmodder/Girlmodder/Dickman/Donald Trump/Godmodder Soul/Red Dragon!Godmodder/0rigins!Godmodder." Every other person in the area took out their own pistols and shot themselves in the head upon hearing about the Godmodder's fractured existence.

It was at this point that the Popo, headed by Battlefury, came in. The Godmodder looked at Yung Venuz with a cruel eye. "You." "Bark," the Popo Chief said. "You're coming with us, Richard, because you just killed a ton of innocent people." "Officer," the Godmodder said with his silver tongue - his real tongue was lodged somewhere in his digestive tract - "I can explain. They killed themselves because of my awesomeness." "Oh," the Nuclear Throne said with an air of distaste about him, "And you think we'll do the same?" "Yes." It was at that point that every member of the police force tased themselves, shot themselves, and had their K9-units deposit themselves in front of a Black Lives Matter rally, where they were burned at the stake.

Promptly afterwards, I was executed for tying this into current political affairs, and replaced with a new writer.

helo yes im am probect pinary an i will tlel the rest of this storie. so settle down children and i will mak it guude. so the gomdodder turned back 2 death and he told him 'so can u find out who changed my name'. and death said (oh no, typing in cap is hard so i will try mai best) "i CAnT RY BUT IT migHT TAKE A WHILE', and the godmodder said 'guude enough for me,' so he took death's cyan phallus and went out on a s acred journey.

so the 1irst thing the godmodder did waz he went to the haus of tobby fox, the creata of tundltar (don call him radiate bc he hat that) and he showd him the skeleton dickle. and tobby fox took it and had intnese smecksual procedure with the dickle. and when he came to the front door again after he came, he gave the gomdodder the used skeleton dick back, adn the godmodder proceeded to use it in front of tobbby fexy as well, and tob videotape it for balckmail porpoises.

promptly afterward I got bored of this and left, sorrie pal 8)

Meanwhile, Crystal was in a back alleyway trying to snag some crystals for use in complicated drug-making procedures. "Making these drugs is a delicate silence," Crystal uttered time and time again to himself. Crystal had a prolific life as a fourth-wall breaker, able to blur the line between reality and fiction with conscious action. But he had spent so many years doing and dealing drugs that his metaphorical eye had been clouded, and was now perpetually experiencing an acid trip. The crystal method of acquiring drugs was simple - you stalked someone who had them, cornered them in an alleyway, and then beat the shit out of them until their head was more blood than face.

It was in this way that Crystal had cornered an innocent civilian in his acid-induced paranoia, having punched them so many times they had lost all their teeth. His next punch was fueled by pure LSD, and it was so potent that it snapped their neck with the force of an Australian outback steakhouse. Crystal was left with red blood dripping from his hands and pooling on the asphalt below. "I need to get a better schedule," he said to himself. "No more Arabian nights." Crystal then ran into The Nonexistent Tazz, a fucking pony.

"Neigh," the pony bleated. Crystal saw this as an antagonistic threat, and proceeded to beat the shit out of the pony in a brutal matter that ended with its spine ripping in two. Crystal then realized that Tazz was his top drug dealer, and he had just screwed himself out of his only real supply of crystals. This sent Crystal into an absolutely furious rage, upon which all the grams of LSD he had ingested fully activated. LSD poured through his bloodstream, sending Crystal to a higher state of consciousness. Crystal's flesh singed and popped out of his body, his organs and orifices mutating beyond human comprehension as he tunneled straight into the ground, leaking acid across the street.

The Godmodder sensed this disturbance, but did nothing. Now armed with Death's own writhing blue dick, complete with the secretions of both himself and Toby Fox, he was ready to unleash his ultimate weapon. The one that would turn the tide in GodCraft. The Godmodder walked back to the Department of Complaining About Your Name, to see if Death had come up with any new leads. As a matter of fact, Death had, and he voiced this concerns to the Godmodder. "THE PERSON WHO CHANGED YOUR NAME WAS SOMEONE WHO GOES BY 'THUNDERCAM777.' ALLEGEDLY, THEY RECOVERED AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT OF YOU WRITTEN BY SOMEONE YOU ONCE TERRORIZED. THEY'D FORGOTTEN YOUR NAME AND CALLED YOU 'THE GOOD MOOD.' THUNDER RAN WITH THE STORY, AND SOMEHOW MANAGED TO FILE A LEGITIMATE REQUEST TO THE SUPREME COURT TO CHANGE YOUR NAME. WHY? I HAVE NO CLUE." The Godmodder sucked Death's cock to make sure the juices on it entered his own body, and also to ensure it was clean. He then handed it back to Death, who reattached it to his boney body. "Rattle me bones," the Godmodder said as a closing gesture, before leaving.

The Godmodder hopped back in his car and ran over the Black Lives Matter rally, both killing everyone in attendance and trapmling the still-burning corpses of the police officers. The sparks from these fires carried over a long distance, trailing through the air. Once the Godmodder made it back to Richard Mansion, he vomited into a biohazard cup - the vomit contained the juices of himself and Toby Fox. The Godmodder then performed what would be the most delicate part of this procedure - he used the biohazard cup as a dildo, shoving it so hard up his rectum that he coughed a little and felt his soul squirm. Using a complex matrix-based interface he installed in his lower digestive tract, the biohazard cup materialized in GodCraft itself.

Meanwhile, Build writhed and spasmed outside of the Godmodder's room. "All flesh and no dop makes Build a dull ‽," he screamed over and over. "All flesh and no dop makes Build a dull ‽ All flesh and no dop makes Build a dull ‽, All flesh and no dop makes Build a dull ‽, All flesh and no dop makes Build a dull ‽, All flesh and no dop makes Build a dull ‽, All flesh and no dop makes Build a dull ‽, All flesh and no dop makes Build a dull ‽, All flesh and no dop makes Build a dull ‽," it seriously went on for a while. The Godmodder grew a bit irritated by the noise, so he got out of his room for once in his fucking life, peeling away from his chair, and whipped Build with a cat-o'-nine-hundred-and-one-tails until tears of blood streamed down Build's body. Satisfied that he now looked more like Split than Build, the Godmodder returned to his work.

It was at that point that the Godmodder saw the chaos within GodCraft. In the time that he had left, the server appeared to be dominated by two distinct factions, or harems. On one side was Eric, whose main method of transportation was a limousine decked out entirely in leather and chrome. The members of his harem were chained together via the peacekeeping code of the IUPC, carved by laser into solid steel. Eric picked the members of his harem with infinite calculation, as if his work was an artform. By that, I mean he picked the only girls in the entirety of Destroy the Godmodder. On the other side was, surprisingly, Modpack. He hadn't populated his harem with waifus, make no mistake. The victims of his harem were memes given flesh, whipped and bound into cruel shape as he governed with an iron fist. The rest of the Descendants were forced to boggle vacantly at these shenanigans, picking between one of two extremes.

The Godmodder could only laugh at the absolute perfect timing. He was now about to dominate the field with a harem of his own. Hooking up the biohazard cup into a cloning machine, all the Godmodder had to do was press a simple button and watch as the incestuous masturbatory nature of ectobiology ran its course, and hundreds of fully mature combinations of the Godmodder and Toby Fox graced the server with their unholy presence. They were the Odd Gods. "Aren't we cute," they all spoke in grating unison. "Aren't we buttons." The entire server emphatically disagreed, taking out their pocket pistols and shooting the Odd Gods in the head, ignoring all godmodding logic.

The Odd Gods laughed in the rich baritone cadence of a constantly crying skeleton, their eyes flickering between cyan and yellow as they slammed the bullets into the ground. The Odd Gods then all whipped out their own pulsating cyan dicks, advancing calmly towards the Descendants. The Descendants all knew that this was it. There was no conceivable way they could godmod out of this one. The only way they could combat a harem was with another harem. And so it was that, in a fleeting moment of clarity, Eric and Modpack teamed up, putting their collective harems to work. The goal was to stall the battle long enough so they could complete a joint charge, wherein they would summon something of enough power to total the Odd Gods.

The Godmodder cackled as the Descendants sent out legion after legion of cannon fodder in an attempt to abate the reign of the Odd Gods. But there was no hope. Armed with the Godmodder's legendary repertoire of godmodding tactics, as well as the unstoppable barks of Toby Fox, not to mention their rippling cocks, which were capable of thrusting with all the power of Sans, and inflicting just as much cancer onto their victims. But as things were starting to tailspin into a cesspool of shit within GodCraft, the real world was experiencing in many ways the same fate.

Crystal, by this point, was completely unrecognizable. The only actions they were capable of doing were bemoaning a slow schedule, laughing with absolute euphoria, and then screaming with unparalleled terror. This compelled all the bystanders watching the writhing mass of flesh to do the same, and to jump into the vat of flesh. But they all held back, whipping out their pocket pistols in an attempt to kill what was once Crystal. This was a mistake. The terror absorbed the bullets and used their metal casing to become as shining as chrome. Crystal reflected the sun onto everything in the vicinity, cooking an entire quarter of the city alive.

The snapping and sizzling sounds as peoples' flesh fell from their bones, and the fact that they were completely ware of the scenario and in the most intense pain they'd ever felt, aroused and horrified Crystal now more than ever. They latched onto the dead yet succulent meat and completely retreated underground, metastasizing into a true flesh interface. The power of a Descendant amplified the interface's power thousandfold as it snaked through the underground of the city, creating incident zones that cut through the limbs of the city's inhabitants like clockwork. Blood painted the town red as limbs were bisected in thin air. Screams dominated the cityscape, stretching to higher altitudes than skyscrapers.

Split walked down the street in orgasmic bliss. Not only had vaporwave been established by the Supreme Court as a fundamental right upheld by the Constitution, but the new album of Gorillaz was rumored to drop this very day. And to top it all off, what had been intended as a simple killing spree to satiate his bloodlust had turned into complete reverence, as he saw the growing flesh-interface tunneling through the city, pillars of metal snaking into the sky like skyscrapers, as if to suit the whims of some alien architect. "It's beautiful," Split said with a tear in his eye. "It's my money, and I need it now." The guy from the J.G. Wentworth ads rolled up in a limo, with his face stitched onto the writhing body of a baby. When the baby's mouth was opened by fishhooks, the guy's voice came out. You know the one. "It's your money," it boomed. "Use it when you need it."

Blinking in shock, Split decided he'd had enough of life. He was all fine with gore and excessive violence. Due to the trauma he'd sustained as a child by having a toy train stolen from him and beaten with jumper cables by his father (the train never recovered), Split had been desensitized to topics that made normal humans squirm for years. But this baby with the voice of a man had made Split snap. He'd seen something that he could never unsee. So Split ate a fucking baby, impaled himself on his sword, and jumped into the flesh-interface.

At the headquarters of 901.0 FM, the Advanced Superiors stared with a cruel eye at the world below. "Look at me," said No Name McGee. "Everyone thinks I'm a fucking snake." "Aren't you a snake?" said Interrobang, who was wearing another goddamn pair of sunglasses. "No," No Name McGee said, and left it at that. The radio station had noticed that GodCraft was undergoing a phase of complete anarchy. The Descendants were being quite literally raped by the illegitimate offspring of a dick and a dog. This infuriated the Superiors, who were supposed to have a monopoly on rape across the entire city. They resolved to enter GodCraft themselves and put an end to it.

The Superiors proceeded to start the complex ritual needed to transport themselves into GodCraft, which involved assembling a gigantic portal that would take months to assemble and go through, even though portals are designed to instantaneously teleport someone to another location in a highly reasonable timeframe. To that end, they required blessings from the Overseer. Every Superior was laid upon by the Overseer's seventh hand, which was a codeword for his Autumnal Hand. The idea of breaking the Masonic-Kalare Barrier was highly lewd to the Superiors, and as such, it was the highest of holy action. The Superiors then jumped through the portal by activating the code word, "сука blуat."

Days had passed ingame. The Descendants' forces were almost depleted. Though the will of Nonfiction had given them the power to stand up against the Godmodder, they could not fight against an army of them. If only there was some horribly thought-out deus ex machina to save them, like the ones that had usually come to bail them out in times past. Alas, nobody came. But what did come was the Odd Gods. All of them. Their dicks, finally unable to withstand the pressure of the battle, orgasmed in an intense display that turned the entirety of Minecraftia into a sex parody by definition. Unfortunately, there was a critical oversight in the genetic sequence of the Odd Gods that cursed their skeletons with destruction upon orgasm.

Therefore, all of the Descendants were forced to watch as their assailants shriveled up and cracked, their body structure imploding into goop, as they all fermented on the ground in a shameless display of wretchedness. Gutza was shellshocked, their shapely elven body running forwards as they tried to process the ramifications of all this bullshit. "Wait, guys. I figured out how this relates to DavexTerezi!" Gutza was sacrificed on a pike and fed to the Odd Gods' decaying corpses. However, not everyone was satisfied with the conclusion.

The Godmodder was upset because his perfect plan had once again failed, and the two other harems were pissed because their uber-charge (not an ubercharge) had yet to be deployed, and had been prepared for naught. The two realized something at the same time, though - they could just use the charge against each other. So Eric and Modpack each took a half of the charge and created towering W-Mech Mk. <3s with them; the W obviously stood for Waifu. Eric's was modeled after what seemed to be a highly suggestive cross between Tricky the Clown and Dimentio, and Modpack's looked like Siiva, in all his statuesque glory.

The two had an epic yet incredibly obtuse mech battle. Since the mechs were modeled after waifus, they came with highly accurate human anatomy, and because they were developed with artificial intelligences in their operating systems, the two waifus began to be attracted to each other rather than wanting to kill each other. This ended up with the two waifus having sex, with their pilots still inside and becoming highly uncomfortable. Both Eric and Modpack pressed the self-destruct buttons they'd had the foresight to install, obliterating the mechs and themselves. Eric's leather jacket lay in tatters, and Modpack's golden crown was now burned and shattered.

The force of the explosion revealed a hole made entirely of writhing and pulsating flesh, which the entire battlefield took this opportunity to examine at length. TT2000 slid up to the Godmodder, pointing down at the hole. "Come on, Godmodder! Now's your chance to go on a quest! A HOLEQUEST™! This will be such a great multi-stage attack, I'd bet no one's ever done this before--" The Godmodder kicked TT down the hole. There was no sound of him hitting the bottom. Generic turned around and walked away. "This is the part where I turn around and walk away." A guttural roar keened and pitched over itself, the writhing and bubbling form of Crystal emerging. The equine body of Tazz seemed to be wrapped and folded around the thing as well, not to mention the laughing and screaming flesh of many of the city's inhabitants. Mother Horse Eyes had risen again.

At this moment, the Superiors' portal activated, and they all rushed through, readying their battle positions. Upon seeing Mother Horse Eyes, they all blinked sideways, shoving their heads up their own asses and conglomerating into a gigantic Uroboros made from stitched-together flesh. The Uroboros rolled at Mother Horse Eyes, and the two engaged in an epic kaiju battle that rivaled the size and scope of the previous waifu mech battle, except that one had sexual overtones and this one merely featured body horror.

The_Serpent frothed at the mouth, believing they were being sued for snake infringement. Doc Scratch's head also cracked and splintered, for the horse reminded him of Hussie, and the perils of a chess game that ended in a blue waffle surprise. Green energy leaked from his head as it burst completely, splattering the gloopy ink of cueballs over the field. The energy coalesced into - most shockingly - the form of Build. The Godmodder gaped in shock. "How did you escape the pain hold?? I'd kept you there so your pain would bring me endless amusement, and a source of dops!" A fire shone in Build's eyes. "Let's just say I had some help." And the Council of Nine floated from behind Build, holding a glittering pair of golden shears capable of destroying the machine. They had brought bad luck into the Godmodder's life when he needed it least. The Godmodder grimaced and gritted his teeth, ripping his Banhammer from his spinal cord and preparing to get the show over with.

But the final player had yet to be dealt their hand. And so it was that a limo hurtled down the city, trailed by about several hundred cop cars and helicopters. It saw the city in ruins. The sparks and embers created by the toppled Black Lives Matter movement had spread into a raging inferno that had burned down practically every building in sight. The city was now a maze - skyscrapers were breaking into pieces and hurtling towards ravines opening up faster than one could blink. And incident zones were stretching across the ground like veins. The limo, however, seemed to be unaffected. An electrical aura surrounded it, empowered it. And the limo didn't even stop to think when it drove straight down the flesh hole, and into GodCraft.

It burst through the form of Mother Horse Eyes, trailed by the cop cars and the helicopters. The Godmodder's jaw fell off due to how long it was open for. "I thought I killed the cops already?! What gives! When the cops shoot someone, they stay dead, but when the cops are shot at, they're brought back??" Unbeknownst to the Godmodder, these weren't the cops he had shot at. These were the cops appointed to protect the United States government. The limo's door opened, and a red carpet unfurled from it. And out came ThunderCam777, whose avatar was shittily drawn, and who had the power of the Thunder Tank and the army of T.O.U.G.H. behind him.

The Descendants nullposted and incited discord amongst themselves, wondering how the hell Thunder had recieved the support of the U.S. government, and how he'd pulled something of this scale off. Thunder answered their questions soon enough. "I believe you all know me by a better name, at any rate." Thunder ripped off his impeccable suit to reveal a robot body. When he took his head off, it revealed... a shotgun. Thunder had been Goanna all along.

"So that was your trump card?" the Godmodder asked, laughing hysterically. "No," said Goanna. "This is." Goanna then pulled off the shotgun mask, revealing his true cybernetic face - that of Donald Trump. Goanna had been Trump all along. "Think about it," Trump coolly stated. "Someone seeming to be a complete novice. Someone who's big in using guns, and advocating for gun rights. Someone that no one would ever suspect for the presidency. Someone who has big, big plans to get rid of his enemies. It's high energy. It's MAGA. It's coming up, it's coming up, it's coming up, it's DARE." The Gorillaz reference caused a tumor to bulge out of Mother Horse Eyes. Split popped up, and knowing that Trump was an avid Gorillaz fan, pledged his undying support.

The Descendants, who were all avid supporters of Bernie - for they'd been brainwashed by Erelye's Octahedral Propaganda™ before he'd died at the hands of being locked in a cellar and forced to scrape together Refiner's Fire in exchange for new symbols to copyright - proceeded to fillet Split, who got off on the experience immensely, cook him, and eat him. Build, even though he saw his brother as literal cancer and the spawn of the devil, was upset at this treatment because in some ways it applied to him, as he looked identical. This sent Build into his final fuckening mode, in which he took his glasses, Split's glasses, and Interrobang's glasses, and wore them all at the same time.

The sheer tomfuckery of wearing three sets of universe-containing shades created a Trifecta that demolished the entire universe in a burst of red, green, and blue pixels. Timeline upon timeline merged together, with every conceivable circumstance and event occurring at the same time, and what was more, melding into one being. All Mother Horse Eyes across every GodCraft fused into one blob of death and decay, and their gravitational pull was so immense that a black hole began to ebb and grow in their very soul, pulling everyone else involved inside of it. In his last moments of independence, the Godmodder stared at Trump. He was too high-energy to be effected by Mother. "Why..." the Godmodder gasped. "Why did you change my name..."

"Because," Trump said, "I wanted to show you that there will always be someone with power over you." The very idea of someone with more power than the Godmodder caused him to sputter and froth at the mouth with unmistakable, undeniable rage. This rage carried over throughout the entire of every being within Mother Horse Eyes, which intensified through rippling spasms into a seething inferno of hatred. Trump masturbated to the experience, while videotaping it. This would make for a great talking point in the next debate. He could see it now.

Mother Horse Eyes, at this point, was the only being left within the area that was the Trifecta. Feeling that it was an absolute low point in its life, and with nothing left to live for - the all-consuming hatred they'd just experienced had died down into a steady, throbbing, yet dull pain on their collective consciousness - Mother Horse Eyes decided to simply wander the Void until it found something to give its life meaning. Mother Horse Eyes found itself at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe - it had traveled across existence and had found nothing to do. Sighing, Mother decided to simply be done with it.

So Mother Horse Eyes walked into the restaurant. And the person at the counter said, "Why the long face?"