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Being that there will never be a "real" ending to Demongate, the Illuminati have deemed it appropriate to relay a suitable substitute to Gnorm, one of their high-ranking members, to be posted on this wiki.

The EndingEdit

It was an ordinary day in the fortress Demongate. Everybody was relaxing after the victory over Oku the previous week, and all seemed peaceful. That was, of course, until a sniper in the guard tower spotted a small battalion of bloodkin soldiers marching towards the northern gate.

"Commander Brenzen!" cried the sniper, "Bloodkin inbound at twelve o'clock!"

"Fuck that shit!" muttered the commander offhandedly. "I have an appointment with the loremaster, and I don't have any time with this bullshit."

Sir Brenzen then left the sniper to his post, as he marched down the hatchway into Demongate itself. The sniper watched anxiously as the leader of the bloodkin pack, a demented-looking weirdo an unbuttoned coat revealing the golden mask stitched to his bare chest, stepped to the front.

"At last! We have reached this last bastion before the northern civilizations, and I, Shank, will be the one to personally bring the house down—right after I deal with those ruins over there, of course," he said as he motioned towards Castle Helgarde. Shank ran towards these ruins, down the hatchway, and through the metal door. Behind it, he found Corley seated amongst several stone slabs, playing with a matchlock gun.

"Oh, hey Shank!" said Corley, "I see ya finally got off yer fecking lazy arse to do something for once. Fecking gobshite!"

"Can it with the bullshit fake Irish accent," said Shank. "Saying 'arse' and 'gobshite' isn't going to fool anyone."

"That may be so, but you didn't come here to tell me that, did you?"

"Actually, I was just passing through. Now that I'm here, though, I should probably kill you for desertion of the Bloodkin Empire."

"Oh ho ho, and you're going to do that?" asked Corley as he raised the matchlock gun at Shank. "Just you fucking try, motherfucker!" Corley—not being one to wait for responses—fired his gun at Shank, and the balls fired pierced into Shank's body. What Corley failed to take into account, however, was that such attacks don't really work on bloodkin, being that they're immortal.

"Shit!" said Corley.

"Yeah, that's right baby!" cried Shank triumphantly. Shank then proceeded to jam his hand into Corley's chest and yank his heart out. The last thought that came to Corley's mind as Shank crushed his heart and caused blood to spatter all over everything was that he, Corley, was a horrible villain who never accomplished anything in his life.

"There's just one life to live Corley," said Shank as he drew back his bloodied arm, "so I gave your heart a break!" Shank took a second to laugh at his joke before looking at the bloodied remains of Corley, the sight of which made him hard. His eyes were quickly drawn to the matchlock gun, which he took for himself before leaving.

Back outside, his bloodkin had already assembled around the gate at the point where the traps were located.

"Could someone go back inside that old castle and torch that little shit?" Shank asked his men. "I don't want him coming back to life again."

One of Shank's guards complied, and the others regrouped with their leader. The dwarves in the guard tower, whilst worried about the bloodkin, were reassured by their exorbitant number of traps guarding the entrance. Indeed, these traps would have stopped Shank, had he been planning to march directly inside Demongate; Shank had another plan of entry entirely. Shank ordered his minions to climb each others' shoulders, until they all formed a tower of bloodkin. Shank was the last one to climb this tower, and when he reached the top the added weight cause everyone to fall forward towards the outer wall of the fortress. Being that Shank was at the top of the tower of bloodkin, he was flung over the wall once the tower collapsed, fulfilling his mission of getting inside Demongate.

"All right, bitches!" said Shank as he pumped his matchlock gun, "It's time to get dangerous!"

As the guards and fisherdwarves began to rush towards the intruder, Shank began to unload some serious leaden punishment. Bullets whizzed through the air at top speed, blowing apart even the most well-armored of dwarves. In about 126.35749846249 seconds' time, all the dwarves on the ground-level of Demongate and from the guard tower were dead—this made Shank hard.

"Now, it's nothing to worry about," said Shank. "After all, even some adults are afraid of shots!" Shank started laughing maniacally and plinking.

"Not so fast," came a voice from the hatchway. The figure that emerged was a dwarf with long, bleached white hair, slit wrists, a trench coat, and several cigarettes in his mouth. Shank could see that the figure had adamantine armor beneath his coat and that his sword was adamantine as well.

"Well," began Shank, "if it isn't fucking gay-ass Thanatos. What's it like being an emo faggot for whom no-one gives a shit?"

"My life may be an empty void of pain, misery, and drugs," explained Thanatos, "but at least I'm not some sort of god-damned sexual tyrannosaur!"

Thanatos lunged at Shank with his sword extended, but Shank dodged to the side, leaving his leg extended to trip Thanatos. It worked, and Thanatos was sent tumbling on the ground, accidentally stabbing himself in the stomach in the process. Shank, seeing his enemy defeated, walked over to Thanatos.

"Let me give you a hand with that." Shank grabbed the sword by its handle and shook it, tearing apart Thanatos' insides. After a few seconds of this, Shank tore the blade from its victim's body, causing the victim to scream in pain, making Shank hard.

"Now, let this be a lesson to you: never run with sharp objects." Shank laughed madly as he left Thanatos to bleed out.

By the time that Shank was in the fortress itself, the dwarves had figured out that a crazed and horny lunatic had breached their defenses. Thus, they began to flee to the lower levels as Shank marched from room to room picking off the stragglers with his weapons. After picking off most of the dwarves he found on the main level, Shank took a peek into the library, where he found a drunken-looking dwarf in a brown robe with a shaven head.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Friar Fuck," said Shank.

"Relax, buddy! Have a drink and settle down," responded Brother Cornelius.

But Shank was not interested in drinking—likely because he was a bloodkin. What Shank was interested in were his two favorite hobbies: killing and plinking. Thus, Shank sought to fulfill these interests by plinking wildly with some heavy-duty full-auto belt-felt bolt-action matchlock gunfire at the barrels and bottles of liquor that the monk had left strewn about the library. Unfortunately for Brother Cornelius, despite his love of plinking, Shank was not very good at it, and one of the shots hit the monk in the throat.

"*hack* *cough* *choke* *wheeze*" said Brother Cornelius.

"Wow," said Shank. "It sounds as if something went down the wrong pipe. Maybe you need a drink. Ha ha! I'm hard!" Shank ran triumphantly out of the library and down deeper into the fortress.

Several levels down, Shank met yet more foes, still trying to escape the wrath of Shank's devastation. As Shank was walking down the hallway, however, he was suddenly stuck in the back of the head by a cat.

"What titty-fucking shizzle?" asked Shank as he turned around to see four obnoxious-looking dwarves facing him.

"We are teh randomest team in Demongate, lol," said the one on the far left.

"We stop you with hilarious hijinks," said the one on the far right.

"Roll call!" shouted the one on the center right.

"FallenAngel!"

"Danman!"

"Risendemon!"

"Frantalentity!"

"Team Random blast off with the speed of light!" they said in unison. "Surrender now or prepare to——"

Then Shank shot them all.

"You sumbitches ain't even worth one of my signature one-liners," said Shank, mostly flaccid.

Shank then headed down to the offices. Patrolling through the hallway, shooting the occasional straggler here and there, he began to hear strange noises come from the office labelled "Loremaster." Fearing for his life and sanity, Shank slowly opened the door to find the commander and the loremaster naked and on top of each other.

"Oh yes! Oil me down Tarmid!" cried Brenzen.

"Punish me more!" screamed the loremaster.

This did not make Shank hard; he did not particularly care to see the homos perform their homoerotic fetishist activities before his eyes. With decisive action, Shank raised his gun and blew Sir Brenzen's head off, and he would have done the same to Tarmid as well had not the gun started making clicking noises.

"Shit!" spat Shank, "All out of ammo."

Tarmid quickly recovered from the shock of losing his butt buddy, and he grabbed the crossbow from his desk and attached to it a drum full of adamantine bolts. Tarmid shot the matchlock out of Shank's hands and unloading the rest of the drum into Shank himself, causing him to collapse to the floor.

"BITCHES DON'T KNOW 'BOUT MY CROSSBOW!" screamed Tarmid at the top of his lungs in victory.

On the floor, Shank realized that if he didn't think of something soon, he was a goner. With no other option left, Shank reached over and grabbed a speck of dust from the ground and tossed in at Tarmid. The collision with the speck of dust sent Tarmid flying against the wall, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to drop his crossbow. Taking the opportunity given to him, Shank rushed over to Tarmid and sank his teeth into Tarmid's neck, allowing him to drink his blood.

"Ow!" whined Tarmid, "Toady! Throwing is OP! Plz... plz..." The eyes in Tarmid's head rolled back into his skull as his face turned pale and he collapsed to the floor.

"...nerrrrrrrrf," came Tarmid's slow, weak whisper as he breathed his last.

Shank just straight up and left at this point—he was too flaccid to make any witty remarks. Shank ran to the nearest stairwell and drew himself down it, allowing him to plummet to the deepest levels of Demongate. By this point, all the little fuckers that were left had holed themselves up in the mysterious underground fortress made of slade, so Shank went in too. When Shank reached the main level where the survivors were, he came face to face with the entire Hellguard, at the front of which was an ugly bulldyke covered in adamantine armor, wielding a bismuth bronze war hammer.

"Well, it's about fucking time a motherfucking bloodkin finally decided to fucking come to Demongate," said Thane. "We've been sitting 'round here on our asses for Armok knows how long waiting for you shits to show up. So, are you prepared to fight?"

"In a few minutes, bitch!" responded Shank smugly.

"Charge!" yelled Thane.

Shank picked up his adamantine sword as if it were a katana. "All my training, master, has prepared me for this moment," he said to himself. Then, suddenly and completely out of nowhere, a slash was heard and Shank's head was sent flying. The head bounced off of the walls before colliding with its body once more. A snap was heard, and the body and head burst into flames. All of the survivors of Demongate slowly turned towards the new figure responsible for this. It was...

















...Gnora!

"What the fucking fuckity fuck fuck!" inquired Thane.

"Surprise bitches!" said Gnora. Gnora grabbed the nearest dwarf—Beef—and sank her teeth into his neck, draining him of all his blood. "You wouldn't believe how long it's been since I've last had a drink.

"Well, shit nigga," said Torvald, "Gnora was a motherfucking bloodkin all along!"

"Sure took you long enough, you second rate double-agent!" snapped Gnora.

"But aren't the bloodkin subject to the orders of their lords," asked Thane. "How could you kill your own lord in cold blood?"

"You still don't get it, do you? I'm not just some grunt for the bloodkin army—no! I'm something grander entirely, for I'm actually... Corley!"

Several dwarves fainted and vomited at this revelation.

"That's right beyotches! You see, hundreds of years ago when the armies of the First Iron attacked my forces, I was overwhelmed and killed. But being a really fucking powerful bloodkin, I was not really dead, I was merely asleep in my coffin. You faggots thought that you got me in your coffin, but no! The real coffin was discovered by my forces years ago, and I had my followers seal a clone of me that had all of my memories—minus those of me escaping—in the coffin to throw off dumbasses like you."

"A clone!" exclaimed Torvald, "But that's impossible."

"Oh, by the way," said Gnora, "You're a clone too, Leo."

Torvald ran headfirst into the nearest stone pillar whilst screaming "I believe it not!" at the top of his lungs, causing his skull to shatter and for bone fragments to destroy his brain.

"Anyway," continued Gnora, "in order to keep myself from being recognized, I had my bloodkin doctors perform a sex-change operation and hormonal therapy on me to give me this feminine body, then I took acting lessons and speech class learn how to do a naïve farm girl accent and impression. Then, all I had to do was make up some bullshit back-story for myself and keep up the act as the fake Corleys draw attention away from my work, and I would be home free. Of course, my 'death' did cause some set back, but I just had to hide in my coffin for most of the time and continue my plans when no-one was looking.

"But then this faggot Shank comes along and messes everything up! I can't operate my plans for world domination in a fortress full of dead people! Thus, I'm just going to do what I do best: finish the job by killing the lot of you, then sit on my ass for the rest of time getting high of valley herbs. #SmokeValleyHerbsEveryday #420BlazeIt

"Wow," said Thane. "You really kept this thing up for that long?"

"Yep!" responded Gnora. "Pretty impressive ain't it. I ought to become an actor."

Gnora started laughing maniacally; she would probably be pretty hard if she was a weirdo like Shank and if she still had a dick.

"But seriously," she continued as she drew two black steel short swords, "you fuckwads gotta die."

"Not so fast!" came a booming voice from the heavens. Suddenly, an explosion was heard as a hole was blown in the room of the slade fortress, allowing yet another dwarf—this one carrying an AR-15—to make his appearance.

"Father?" asked Gnora.

"Shut the fuck up you stupid fucking tranny!" responded Lenehan. "Armok's getting really fucking tired of all you guys' shit, and he's offered me a full appeal if I take care of you bitches once and for all!" Lenehan lifted up a remote control. "I've rigged this entire plot of land, both above ground and in every nook and cranny beneath it, with Semtex, and I've got an itch to scratch. And by 'itch,' I mean I've got a desire, and by 'scratch,' I mean I wanna make this entire place and all the little cum dumpsters inside go boom."

Lenehan pressed the button, everything everywhere exploded all of a sudden, causing all the remaining souls of Demongate to be forever stuck in the Limbo known as "FPS Death," never to reach Heaven or Hell. At least Lenehan made it out okay, cause he did something useful by eliminating a little shithole.

And so ended the reign of terror of Demongate. No such evil was ever to arise again, at least until the autists of the Steelhold community decide to make another entry in this anger-inducing saga.

THE FUCKING END, BITCHES!

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