Siege of Darkshire - The Breach

[Gamzee Makara]

Gamzee’s breath comes slowly and laboured. His eyelids flutter shut and the clown simply exists for just a moment. The sounds of battle are inescapable, despite the little sectioned off nature of his rap battle. The clang and clatter of steel against steel, the horrifying sound of lives being snuffed out by the dozens, the chants and cheers of rallying soldiers; it all came together into the symphonic, haunting sound that is the sacking of Darkshire.

And above it all, past the immense chaos, Gamzee could very clearly make out the sick beat Dave Strider was providing. It thrummed along at the center of this battle like the heartbeat to a giant, writhing beast. It left a pleasant taste in his mouth.

No, wait, false alarm. That’s just his soda-flavored blood.

“You’re not ready for these ill fires, motherfucker. Shit is all kinds of hype. Kay, Kay, check this shit, yo.”

Gamzee lets the music of the surrounding strife flow into him, lets it take over and flood his veins. The rhymes come to him as naturally as breathing, laughing, and chugging faygo.

“Motherfucker has got some kinna nerve coming up to me,

Cocky ass smirk on his face like he’s got something up his sleeve,

But this time around you will get no fuckin’ reprieve,

My rhymes are so sick they’ll make you all up and heave,

Losin’ your lunch like a little loser punk,

Imma knock those lame ass shades off with this sucker punch,

You be Evander Holyfield and I’ll be Mike Tyson bitch, munch munch munch!

It sucks you’ll be deaf by the time my words beat you to death,

And now you’re fading fast like a junkie who ran out of meth,

The clown gets his last laugh and you get your last breath.”

Oh, they were rolling in it. They being Gamzee and his Darkshire friends, it being the dopest of rhymes.

“I won’t stand for your blasphemy,

After this fight you’re gonna wanna command z,

And actually I should probably emphatically tell you there’s no hope,

You’re climbing up a hella slippery slope, you fuckin’ dope, bend over and grab the soap,

Because I’m already fuckin’ you over, your luck has run out but I’m on my fifth four leaf clover,

It must suck to suck and be stuck in the muck without a fuck to give so just tuck and roll,

As I begin to take my deadly toll, my heart is as black as coal so we’ll need to take a poll to figure out which ladies’ hearts I stole and if you haven’t figured it out I’m on a motherfuckin’ roll!”

Strider takes a moment to groan. He just rhymed roll with roll. It wasn’t even a homophone or homonym or whatever the fuck. Dave ceases his phat beat and rolls his eyes as Gamzee’s half of the circle bursts into cheers. Gamzee smirks, his miracles at work, his poetry a living, breathing force of nature. Dave opens his mouth to defend his honor but the juggalo cuts him off.

“No. You don’t get to speak, punk ass bitch. I’m not done with you, motherfucker,” He spits, and the onlookers hold their breath, waiting for the next verse.

“I’m gonna steal your soul and seal your death, I’m gonna make you suffer,

It’s about to pop off and explode, so duck you sucker,

At the end of it all, you’re nothing more than a jimmie rustler and I’m a lyrical soul plucker,

Get dunked on nerd, yeah you heard that I flipped the bird like I flipped this verse,

And I don’t know what’s worse, I’m descending on you like a bloody curse,

By the time I’m done, bitch, you’ll be in a motherfuckin’ hearse.”

If Gamzee had a mic to drop, he would. The Darkshire soldiers made an excellent hype crew, their cheers and shouts melodically boosting Gamzee’s morale and their own. The troll bumps his fist with a couple of the nearest infantry soldiers as people banged on their shields and raised their fists and swords and voices and it was altogether something quite special.

 Dave rolls his shoulders a few times, cringing at the aches he felt and bruises he knew he had.

“My turn,” He says with finality.


The crowd grows quiet once again at the severity of Dave’s tone. He wasn’t clowning around with this clownish asshole. Gamzee nods, calming himself once again, feeling and fleshing out the flow. He cups his hands to his mouth and begins to set down a sick track. He was indeed acapella as fuck.

765 words on wordcounter

Only move Gamzee used was his sick fires

I'm sorry if the formatting is weird, I had no idea where to begin with formatting verses of a...whatever this is.