The scents of vapor and scorched soy filled the battleground air in these, the last days of the Blood War, a fight of flames resulted from a line of Blood Sports carried out for months alongside the gayest of ops ever known to man. Thousands of Skype hours, doxxes, leaks, and screechings had led to a slaughter of the likes none involved could have ever imagined, though they stood steadfast for the end they never lost sight of. Today warriors gave their lives with pride, for this goal now stood within reach.

The rainbow flag flowed gracefully carried by knights and scholars clad in sunglasses, beanies, and fur on ponybacks towards their paramount encounter with the red, snarking menace. Volleys of arrows forged in the shape of the femboy crest whistled in front of them as the two sides neared. Armored in his hard hat, teeth gritted, Kraut of the fishing village led his army with fervor and confidence, as only one thought ran through his capacious, enlightened mind:

"Death sure beats bricklaying."

Brutality ensued when both factions met in the middle in the form of slaps, scratches, quips, and chuckles of assurance, a monicker of the leader the Skeptics followed. One proud warrior of the Academics of unusual flowing black hair and covered face danced gaily and fancifully about the cutting aggressors, flailing a plastic sword sure to cut down anything in its path. Also gallant among the ranks was the honored knight King of Pole, rigorously impaling many man upon the spear from which his name comes. At his side stood his lifelong brother in Pole, Danny, thrusting with finesse and rigor. They met with a glance amidst lunges as to say, without words, "How'd you like to point that thing my way?"

Seated safely, passively at the back lines was the glorious king of online justice, Sargon of Kekistan, garbed in the finest regal cloak atop only the most dignified suit, envy of soldier, enemy, and the Royal UKIP family alike, family to his admirable girth. Witnessing the onslaught of slanderers and naysayers brought jollity to the Lord of Memes, urging him to pull his head back and let out smuggest of chuckles. Suddenly, from his flank ran the royal's wife, panting and burdened in pregnancy, collapsing at his side, struggling to speak the words, "Dear Carl, your son, he is coming, we don't have much time."

Indifference on his face coupled with subtle agitation, Sargon turned to his mate to utter in the most soothing tone, "Bitch, I'm directing social influence here, there's good money on the line and face to be saved. Now, why not step to the barracks and fetch this great Acadian some lunch, ahuhuhu!" Chuckled the adorned ruler.

Diligently and savagely did the blue forces wage their might but their oppositions only persisted, pouring in with hairless boomers, imbreds with shotguns in hand, and leagues of child soldiers conditioned by the highest ranking groomers intent on ravaging all the combatants of justice represented. Hope prevailed though when the long awaited Alaskan Spartan charged in with a pack of California's finest groomed dogs in tow, releasing them to raze the lifeless harbingers of shit and their children led asunder in hopes they would return unscathed and in time to be returned to their owners.

Not far after was the noble king greeted by his humble pigeon, Vee, to inform him that the field was poised for their ace, and so it was ordered that the unexpected ringer be sent. The Skeptic crowd cleared way for the brawn, blue warrior of charging energy, Donga, charging head on atop his trusty iron buffalo, inspiring awe among the ranks. The crowd cheered for their champion, even the fair, masked knight, removing guard to reveal himself. It was no man, it was Davina, vibrant, brave woman knight of the Academic Forces, brought to swoon at the muscle of the rider.

Jeers came from the enemy in doubt of Donga's faculties. It was exactly their underestimations that was their undoing, for before the first blow was sent did Donga clench the nitroglycerine-packed berries in his satchel, resulting in an explosion that sent limbs, blades, and wheelchair parts flying about. Shock overcame the Fascists armada, alongside a shortage of men. The king and all knew it was time, and so again a path was opened for their forward operative, the one who would end it all.

From the mass strode the might Quarry King, pushing at his front his staunch boulder, flattening scores of men and children as his way was made. He made note, however, to spare a number of underage fighters, for no reason discernable outside a general love of humanity. Hit route was sure as the aggressors lessened, and in the woodlands beyond the lines he found the fruit of his and all's work, their fulfillment in a lone laptop with a link, and a message. He needed only press the button, but from the shadows came their dark ruler, faceless and with a joyous sneer towards the knight, so close to victory. Grinning a wide smirk, he remarked, "Oh Matt," grabbing his own boulder, and raising it over his head, "whad'ya doin'?" as he crashed the large rock upon the Quarry King, laying him out.

All seemed lost, but with one last dying breath, Matt gasped, "Trigger the Libs, own the Libs," as he collapsed his hand upon the keyboard of the laptop, and with that one motion, it was done. Direct to the news went Matt's fake interview with Tucker Carlson, and within moments was Donald Trump on his phone, on Twitter, tweeting out those words that had rung in camps and courts for months, "GamerGate 2".

Slightly befuddled, the assailant questioned, "Now whaddid ya do ya fa…" but he dissipated before his statement finished. The doxxes had come swift and truly, leaving no trace. Though the triumphant army was not without loss, as before their eyes did Baked's pack turn to ash, giving him panic and wishes for the same fate. In King of Pole's arms did too Danny vanish from existence, and in despair he grabbed an axle of Donga's ruined chair and plunge it into his heart. For the rest went their friends, notoriety, and most of their subscribers. By the end their presence was nearly infinitesimal, being met with a disgusted look from their Meme Lord, who in response rose from his chair and exclaimed, in parting, "Welp, onto Prliament then."

The End