It was like a dream.
The pure, unaltered power of the magnificent sight filled his heart with vigor.
The soft, winter breeze.
The subtle scent of the pine trees.
The sounds of muffled shifts.
The unwavering rays of sunlight, reflecting upon his being with an unfiltered warmth.
The snow was nearly indescribable that day.
This gift from above, now crystallized under his feet, was almost unimaginable in its consistency.
The terrain ahead of him was devoid of signs of life, yet filled to the brim with possibilities.
The snow is safe, you’ve got the option to come on down!
They stood there silently, letting it all sink in.
Do you think Ill always be able to do this?
What, you mean skiing?
the father replied staunchly.
I know you disliked racing, but you still kept doing it for a long time.
Im actually surprised that you wanted to keep skiing, albeit in a slightly different way…
I know, Casabon sighed.
I just grew tired of being told what to do, being so… restricted.
Being here, I wish that moments like these would never end.
His father suddenly seemed to freeze up and his voice lowered to a grumble.
The substance filled his eyes, ears and mouth, causing him to drown under the surface.
What he saw shook him deeply.
Explosions, collapsing towers, a reign in blood, as his armies marched towards their ruthless enemies.
All fighting, struggling for his cause, for his Oath.
A sea of blood, clouding his vision, clouding his mind.
The Eternal Flame taunted him with its crass flicker over the demonic forces at play.
Daring him to come and try.
Come and compete with style.
He flew off the edge.
It was like a dream.
But he knew that wasnt true.
His generals were fast asleep, resting for a few hours before advancing in the giant maze.
He hadnt dared dream in years, not until this was all over.
This was far too vivid; the Flames influence on him was growing stronger by the minute.
As he rose up, however, he noticed that Imlach was not present.
Just then he heard a troubled voice from behind him.
That thing has been staring at us for a long time now, you know.
Just watching us sleep, whispering to itself and snickering away.
Whatever hes become, we cant take our eyes off it either.
Hes definitely a hero who should be unsung…
They both laughed heartily, scaring Dudemont and waking up rest of the crew.
Soon they were on their way.
One by one, the pipes they rode seemed to become smaller in size, and less unkempt.
The conditions changed constantly across the board.
But Dumont was hyper, hopping up and down, stomping his nimble feet, giggling uncontrollably.
The walls receded to the corridors sides, and they were treated with a surprise.
Before the generals had time to greet and salute him, it spoke, in a disturbingly odd manner.
Who be dat man… with da Meisterplan?
Well… he be dat Iberg, dawg.
Its the one and only B-Dog up in dis riddim house, correct, correct, straight fiya!
Now move on up in, les get dis partay on da loose.
Yall keep it real now.
Only then, they could hear the mighty steps coming from the buildings entrance hall.
From the cold shadows, a figure emerged.
It was harlaut, rugged, scarred, but alive, in the flesh.
Dumont was nowhere to be seen.
Its been too long, HH.
But, we have no time to lose.
I need to show you something.
It felt like a moment frozen in time, a massacre in MegaMo.
To their looming demises even worse luck, three Head Judges had been dispatched to annihilate them.
Three cloaked forms ascended from the Entrance.
He gathered speed, using his creaky wings to gain momentum at a godly velocity.
…who the hell are you?
The gruffy, bearded stranger seemed relaxed.
And I wont let you hurt my buddies.
Foolish peon… Youre no match for me.
I live in a goddamn forest, Im pretty sure I can handle a has-been like you!
That was fun… it hissed.
..but Im over it already!
A majestic white light shined over them, blinding the Trodden and the Judges.
Men vad gor ni har?
LJ shook his head in disbelief.
…Is that… could it really be?
It was Olsson the White, hailing from the Northern reaches of the Kingdom of Douchebag.
Riding on the backs of his glorious Twins, he had appeared at the most opportune moment.
Looks like you boys could need some help.
Youre only going to get one chance, take it!
It was a glorious kicker.
Douglas, you ready?
A helicopter with a gigantic audio system rose from behind the Stadium, carrying the Godfather of Skiing.
He replied with stark confidence.
Ready as Ill ever be.
Lets show those boys how you really get the attention of the masses!
Flying gloriously through the air he assumed the position.
Douglas screamed into his microphone.
What you are witnessing is history!
As synchronized as ballet skiers, the Gapers gaped like they had never gaped before.
Mouths open wide, jaws dropping all around, they were in awe.
The generals and their scruffy compadre saw their chance.
Downey sprang forward, slashing the snow beneath him and spraying the Judges firecannon, causing it to malfunction.
Do you know how long it took me to make this look stylish?!
Muktr gasped but it was too late.
Liam snapped the skis together, effectively decapitating his foe in a storm of gushing blood.
LJ knew what he had to do.
Unperturbed, he looked back down his sights, ready to blow Strenio out of existence.
What he saw was single ski, sharp as a katana, headed in his general direction.
He released his breath for the last time.
Mosley raged in anger.
What do you seek to accomplish?!
Why do you refuse to comply with our simple rules!?
I dont care about your rules, man.
I just wanna go big, huck it and not look back.
The Chief cawked with its disposition.
Dont you understand?!
I am above your sentiments.
I cannot be defeated by style!
Ager regained his composure, and shouted at the top of his lungs:
Style…?
I HAVE NO STYLE!!!
LJ and Dunny met Ager halfway, when he handed them the medallion.
It was Moseleys Gold medal, still intact although musty.
They stashed it and gathered their troops before advancing through the Front Gates to the innards of the Stadium.
Meanwhile, to even his own surprise, Heath had infiltrated the Inner Stadium.
At the Gates, he had been stunted by a different revelation, however.
The sign above him in the dim-lit corridor stated the obvious:
The Panel shall NOT BE DISTURBED.
The dried-up blood stains in the signs near vicinity were proof enough for him.
The door was in front of him and he stormed through.
The adrenaline rush quickly subsided.
This was The Panels home office, no doubt.
But there was only a single person there.
He recognized him immediately.
It was the President of IOC, the Main Panelist Jacques Rogge.
He strafed around with the explosive in hand and approached the President.
You… this has gone far enough!
My friends, my brothers of Style, are fighting, dying… because of you.
I didnt become a filmer to see them die before my eyes!
I never…
Mid-sentence, Heath realized something was off.
Rogge had not reacted at all to his entrance, or his riveting tale.
When he realized it, it was already far too late.
The large figure crept closer to him and its shadow was cast upon Heaths face.
It was…it was you all along.
In a blink, Heath was gone.
What HH wanted to show his friend and ally was not a sight for the weak of mind.
They crept to the edge of a ledge of a smartly camouflaged alcove.
Harlaut removed his binoculars and handed them to B.
Hes right there.
Beneath that large Olympic sign.
Casabon sighed and put the binoculars on his eyes.
What he saw was not a pleasant sight.
There he hanged, crucified.
Just to serve as an example and deterrent for any stylishly motivated Trodden.
Jesus…, Casabon exhaled.
Yup, thats him, B.
They wanted to make an example out of him.
After The Last Games, they crucified him immediately to keep the morale low in these training facilities.
It just doesnt seem right.
I know what you mean.
Harlaut was deep in thought.
He wasnt the first, though.
Scarred, and flawed, but still alive.
Hes been bouncing around the Ward for a few years now.
We have to be careful in our approach.
It is what it is.
Casabon thought about his dreamy vision and the endless pit of nothingness he was flung into.
…hey, Dollo… how did your English get so damn good?
I could ask the same from you.
But it was Cali P who taught me.
He ran an advanced linguistics class in the Ward for five years.
That doesnt make any sense.
In this world we live in… what does?
First to follow was Dumont, creeping silently behind them with magnificent strides.
Behind the sullen creature, was Imlach the Wise.
Woaah, woaah… take it easy B!
…and E. Its fricking great to see you again, Edollo.
LJ and Downey settled down the alarming situation and they discussed their game plan.
Now, the main men would strike the room with a controlled and stylish intrusion.
They were ready to kill or die for their cause, and now it became a complete reality.
The room was bleak, and unknowingly to them, splattered with Heaths entrails.
They approached President Rogge with fearful caution.
Their air senses were honed enough to know that something was off.
Casabon lowered his guard and walked to the Presidents drooped corpse, somehow very well preserved.
I dont sense any assessment or technicality from him.
Hes just a lifeless puppet.
What the hell is going on here…?
He must be coated with the same stuff they used on Wallnuts, Harlaut thought.
They all spun around, utterly surprised.
It took a second to sink in.
What, who they saw, threw them completely off.
-Congratulations on making it this far.
Have you been enjoying seeing your friends ripped to pieces?
Have you enjoyed summoning the strength to destroy my minions, my Judges, my silly little servants?
Its been a long, long wait, and oh how Ive waited for this.
Now, welcome to your doom.
As they looked up, they froze in place, almost feeling the madness lurking inside their heads.
-Can you see where you, where your key in, wronged me?
Hahaha, Im sure it’s possible for you to.
You know the importance of this pla-ce.
Surely you recognize it already, come on now.
They all knew exactly where they were, or at least what this place represented.
They were looking at Chads Gap.
The Gold Medal of Mosley fell down to the ground from his pocket.
Harlaut fell to his knees and grabbed Casabons arm.
You…… this is all you…. damn it… take.. this… if all else… fails.
Come on, get it together!
What is this?!
I dont know how to use this, cmon!
-Now, now, Ca-sa-bonne.
You do know, that you, your kind, disrespected me and invaded my territory?
You didnt even, hah, you didnt EVEN ASK FOR PERMISSION!!!
I was too late.
Like I was RIPPED OUT FROM THE INSIDE!
DO YOU know… what pride is.
PRIDE, its something to cherish, something to hold in HIGH REGARD.
And your friends… your BUDDIES.
Your kind took my territory, you… it was sacrilege!
But I wasnt a lazy boy, nooo-no-no…
I was a busy body indeed.
I vowed to destroy your silly little two-plankers, asinine sporty sport.
Hahaha, how Ive WAITED FOR THIS moment.
-And now, we are going to gap…Chads.
No no, I assure you hahaha, if you BEAT ME you will live.
Go on to tell your story.
Haha, no really.
Nothing will happen to you, man.
Dude, trust me.
Its not like, even right now, youre IN MY terri-TORY!
Strap… in… now.
Casabon felt the massive wave of style force being released at him, almost killing him instantly.
MFM screeched from the bottom of his heart to this insult, ready to devour him instantly.
But no, Casabon knewthis was trule a Devils game.
It had to be decided with a fair competition.
He still had a chance.
And he knew the Devil would not play fair.
As they approached the jump, he could feel the Devils grip on his neck.
Was this how it would really end?
Was this… suddenly, times seemed to stop moving.
B-Dog…… use the gre.e…e..
Casabon couldnt believe his ears.
Is that… you?
Hall… the Anklebearer?!
I thought you were… gone!
No way, man.
Ill never be gone, this is real, you know.
I cant believe this, its just like a dream I ha…
Were you behind that as well?
For certain, for certain.
But how… how are you doing this?
Is this some sort of telepathy?
What do you mean?
You mean this thing that HH gave me, is it an explosive?
It happens to be such, yeah.
Its not your time to go yet, brah.
The demonic arm was still around his throat and they were closing in on the kicker.
The jump was coming in fast, when he realized it.
The Demon stared at him with sudden fear.
We cant be hittin no Chads, because…
SKI PATROL BLEW IT UP!
They both fell through the ground onto a lower level.
So, its true is it?
There is no real snow left in the world.
Its all your doing.
Youre making SNOW OUT OF PEOPLE!
Innocent lives lost to fulfill a void, for what, for petty vengeance?!
We newer asked for your permission because we believe skiing, snowboarding, everything… is free!
Free for all to experience, in the fullest or the slightest!
-… well… how well did that go even before I intervened?
He knew that it was true.
No one wanted this to happen.
-Yet you let it.
It was all downhill from the day… you… joined.
In his heart, he knew it to be true.
But he still knew that they could fight the rules.
They could fight the requirements until the end of time.
I will extinguish that Flame youve corrupted… and I will fight for my freedom!!!
He saw something soaring through the air, something with a glean shimmer, and caught it by chance.
It was an Olympic Gold Medal.
Without warning, a figure dropped behind him on the floating rock.
The attack would be impossible to dodge, and would promptly cut Casabon in half.
In another amazingly silent moment of truth, he thought:
Thanks, dude.
The Gold hit Montoya in the head, straggling him for a second.
But then Dumont came for his Gold.
Marc Frank had no time to react.
No time at all.
The medal around his neck.
As they sank into the boiling pit of blood, Imlach hoisted Casabon from the floating make-shift platform.
The new winds were blowing.
They both looked up and watched as the flame was extinguished, once and for all.
On the groomers, in the backcountry, in the parks, on the streets.
Freedom would flow once again.
Well now that this is over, what are we gonna do?
Casabon looked into the sky with wishful eyes.
I dont know about you… but Im gonna take a break from skiing.
