by Turkish Stringfellow
The oily, slick, black goblins swarmed with plague-like precision, funneling through the elevator shafts and along the stairwell. A low, murmuring chatter, tinged with an inhuman dialect, constantly hummed throughout the building. Crisp shrieks sounded up every so often as some of the members valiantly fought off the invasion.
Diamond-skilled fists shattered one of the black creatures, its body splitting into fifteen separate pieces as another fist struck the next assailant. His teeth barely gritted, Grimm flung hammers of uppercuts and right crosses into the swarm, this bit of exertion seemingly no more than a casual workout.
Directly behind, to his right, five of the necro-beings launched toward him. All five found themselves separated into perfectly sliced pieces of anti-flesh, as Sam Dawson spun around the giant's back. One hand, stretched into razor-sharp accuity, ran the creatures clean through, as the other, balled into a spiked mace, crushed any still-moving parts.
Another howling goblin crashed out the ground-floor bay window.
"Okay, I'm playing through," Dirk Bell muttered, cocking the nine-iron again.
Upstairs, Mick Harrison flailed and screamed against his attackers in his shower, more out of fear at them seeing him naked, than any real pain he was going through.
On the third floor, a few hundred of the creatures exploded as Tobias Christopher tore through with enough force to literally crack the stone walls of the hallway.
But, inside the sanctum sanctorum of Naecken's meditation chamber, two figures sat cross-legged across from each other. Both beings were completely covered in the dark flesh of so many of the creatures. Gnawing and scratching, the goblins made no headway in getting their attention, as both continued to be locked into a seeming trance. It was a few minutes, but finally something other than the creatures moved.
A single hand slowly rose up and out. Suddenly, there was a slight... nausea flittering in the air, a decadence of equilibrium.
Grimm felt a tingle run along the soles of his feet, as Dirk's nipples became rock-hard.
"What the hell was that?!" the gunslinger exclaimed, his nine-iron finally breaking against another creature.
A small ripple quickly ran up along Sam's body, the liquimorph's form vibrating for a second. The sensation, for him, was something the equivalent of a tickle.
Then, without warning, one of the creature attacking Grimm suddenly vaulted straight up, crashing through the ceiling, its high-pitched screams dying away as it gained altitude. Immediately, small explosions of wood and stone could be heard all over the complex as the swarm began to be seemingly dragged from the ground, flung into the atmosphere.
"Okay, okay," Dirk said shaking his head and running his hand through his thick hair, "I absolutely fucking hate it when events don't explain themselves to me."
"Don't look at me," Grimm's low, hoarse voice emanated, two dead, eyeless sockets staring at Dirk.
Mick suddenly burst through the main lounge door. "God dammit, what was that?!" he yelled, hair still dripping-wet, a small, pink bath towel wrapped around his waist.
"Did you do that, Mick?" Sam asked.
"Gravity."
All eyes turned toward the bald man, stepping out of the empty elevator shaft.
"What?" Shirley Francis asked, Sam pulling her up off the floor.
"You may thank gravity for their expulsion," Turkish Stringfellow replied, casually studying the twisted metal of the broken half of Dirk's club lying a few feet away on the ground. He glanced up at Dirk. "A normal day of golf, eh?"
"Wait a minute," Sam said. "What are you talking about?"
Turkish, hand folded behind his back, strolled along the room casually, admiring the destruction and studying some of the necro-bodies.
"I told gravity that the beings were quite rude, and should be kicked-out," he explained. "But, as with all things, there was a price..."
"What kind of price?" Mick frowned. "What does... gravity need?"
"Balance, of course," Turkish replied very matter-of-factly. "We are now all a half-third of a percentage heavier than we were. My apologies."
Sam grinned. "I think I can live with th--"
His words were instantly cut off as a brand new swarm of goblins tore violently through the only one of three bay windows that hadn't been shattered yet.
Dirk rolled his eyes and grabbed an iron poker from the fireplace. Grimm reached onto his back and hoisted his axe from its scabbard. Sam's hands remorphed back into their offensive state. Tobias' autonomic system fired a neural charge into the eleventh percent of his brain that controlled his metahuman reflexes, charging his every atom with nigh-speed-of-light potential. Turkish turned toward this new enemy, an annoyed sneer on his face, jutting one hand out toward them.
And Mick just sighed and said one word. "M'xy."
There was a blinding flash of gold lightning as a burst of fifth-dimensional atmosphere briefly opened up into the normal third. The air momentarily smelled like cucumbers and cotton candy, as light halted in its tracks to observe the dimensional shift. Sound waves split down into five different radio signals, every person in the room hearing their heartbeat being transmitted on an FM frequency for approximately six seconds...
...and the swarm decided to spontaneously turn into thousands of authentic sixth century Chinese chopsticks.
"I'm BAAACCCKKK!"
Turkish glanced over at Sam. "Is this good or bad?"