Okay Thunderwolf. You asked for it. You REEEEEAAALLYYY asked for it ! >:D

********

Thunderwolf's Viper roared down the highway. The windows were up, the air was on "hypothermia" and the stereo was blasting Ice-T's rendition of Phil Collins's "In the Air Tonight" with enough force to disintegrate a concrete block.

Thunderwolf brought a fifth of JD to his lips and leaned to the right, then tilted it upwards, draining the last of the amber fluid. He sat back up, ran the driver's side window down and threw the bottle outside. The crash of glass against pavement was lost behind him as he sped onward.

The power imparted to him by RD Rivero's particle accelerator was slipping beyond his control; already he'd suffered two outbursts. The first had vaporized the infamous green nincompoop, Fianna, while blowing Thunderwolf himself into an alternate universe. The second had slain all the TCATGR authors not taken out by his earlier antics. He could feel the pressure building again now, threatening to burst forth in an uncontrollable gush.

Then he realized that his power wasn’t all that was swelling, his bladder was, too. He downshifted to spare his brakes, slowing gradually until at last the viper rolled to a smooth stop on the side of the road. He climbed out, walked to the edge of the grass, pulled out his trouser sausage and sighed as he let 'er rip.

Perhaps a less pickled Thunderwolf would have forseen what happened next, but this one was three torn sheets to the wind and, had he known, he might not even have cared. Consequently, when his urine stream touched the earth, the vast store of electrical energy in his body grounded out. The resulting explosion blew a three-foot-deep hole in the dirt and pavement and launched Thunderwolf twenty feet into the air. He landed on his back in the field opposite the side of the road he'd been standing on.

Thunderwolf groaned and raised his head. Looking down along his body, he saw that his mighty sausage now looked like a weenie cooked over an open fire. With a feeble whimper, the lion lost consciousness

*********

As night fell on Snarfria Province, the only movement in town was centered on a bakery called "Kamanchee's Kakes". The interior had been redone in post-modern massacre, replete with fried flesh and splatterings of gore.

Snarf Stewie was the investigator in charge, checking over the crime scene with the critical eyeof one who has seen such things, not just before, but daily. For more in-depth analysis, he turned to Snarf Slab, the coroner.

"What's the verdict, Slab?" Stewie asked.

"Deader'n shit, snarf-snarf," Slab replied. "All of them."

"Thank you for that in-depth analysis, Slab," Stewie grimaced. "We're gonna need more body bags."

"Excuse me?" Stewie hear from behind him, coupled with a tap on the shoulder. From the voice alone he knew the intruder was neither Thundercat nor snarf, and he braced himself for disaster as he turned. But all he found was a four-foot tall bipedal weasel in white grease-paint and an outfit that looked like it had been cut from a black vinyl tablecloth.

"I'm looking for Tatiana the Undead Sorceress. Have you seen her?" the rodent squeaked.

"She's dead," Stewie said distractedly. "What's that goddamn uglybird doing in here? This is a crime scene, snarfdammitall!"

"Honk!" the turkey-like thing bleated.

"Dead?!" the weasel squeaked in dismay. "But how?! Who?!"

Stewie shrugged. "All the authors in town were killed by Thunderwolf, and we can't raise anybody at the ATB. She died awhile ago, but maybe he did her, too."

The rodent warrior staggered as though struck. "Thunderwolf?! ALL of them?! Tatiana too?!!"

"Honk?!" commiserated the bird.

"Hey, get that duck or whatever the snarf it is out of here, okay?" Stewie growled. "It just pissed on Kamanchee's head."

"NO!" the weasel barked, and the crusty snarf lawman backed away a step as something unpleasant surfaced in the rodent's eyes. "I will not be denied. Thunderwolf must pay for his sins! Arise, you slumberers! Awaken and walk the earth once more! I summon you back across the pale, back from the darkness of AOHell, to seek grim vengeance on Thunderwolf the Insane Lion! I command it by the power of the DODO!!"

And as, in the bakery and street, the gory corpses of Thunderwolf's victims began to jerk and moan hideously, Snarf Slab looked around and spoke into his cell phone.

"Uh, never mind those body bags, Larry. Looks like we won't need them after all."

********

"Hello ladies. Need some help?" he said to the two lionesses. The females were nearly naked in their string bikini workout costumes. They smiled, he smiled, and then he grimaced as white-hot agony tore through his genitals and ripped him back to consciousness.

Thunderwolf rolled on the ground and moaned as he waited for his slight erection to subside. Mercifully the pain diminished with his member, and he was able to sit up and examine himself. The burn was severe, and although it was healing with the speed common to all authors, it was not mending as fast as it should have been.

"Damn, pissed away my new powers," Thunderwolf muttered. He sat up slowly and with great care removed his boots. He took off his socks, folded them around his cooked hot dog, and zipped his pants over the assembly. "Probably gonna get jock itch from this," he growled as he put his boots back on. He stood up and found he could walk, albiet only stooped over and with great discomfort.

Thunderwolf hobbled back to his Viper and snarled in pain as he sat down. He reached for the ignition, only to find the key already in the "drive" position. He stared at the gas gauge in disbelief, realizing the sportster's ten cylinders had sucked all the fuel out of the tank while he'd lain unconscious in the field.

"FUCK!" the lion roared in frustration. He got out of the car, sighed, and began walking down the road, whimpering slightly with each step. Still he made slow progress and before long the viper's headlights were swallowed up by the thick darkness of the night.

The sliver of moon overhead glowed faintly on the road as he continued, outlining it so he could see his way. But it could not pierce the thick underbrush bordering the road to his right, from which he heard sounds of furtive movement.

The saberlion's mace hung from his belt, attached there by an ingenious knot that could be undone in a second with one hand. He went for it, and the underbrush flew apart as a huge body hurtled out at him.

Thunderwolf side-stepped the charging figure and brought his weapon down hard on the attacker's skull. His assailant crashed to the ground in a heap as Thunderwolf bellowed out a triumphant war cry. At least, he hoped it sounded like a war cry, because the sudden movement of battle had jarred his wounded slacks-serpent and, had he not bellowed, he would have screamed.

"Sher Kahn?" Thunderwolf said as he looked at the lifeless body of his attacker. "I thought I fried your ass with the rest of them at the bakery." Then, noticing the siberian's crushed skull, he grinned and said, "Hell, second time's a charm though, huh?"

The great tiger's head swiveled around and looked blankly at Thunderwolf. Blood flowed sluggishly down the sides of the cat's head while brain glistened wetly from the cracked and torn portions of the skull. Then Sher Kahn began trying to stand.

Thunderwolf stepped away, mace in front, horror and revulsion welling up inside him. This was wrong, all wrong. He'd seen authors behave like this before - Fianna chasing his own head after Chanur's appearance at a sparring session distracted him from Thunderwolf's attack came to mind - but this was different. Kahn didn't look alive. He looked dead.

Something plowed into Thunderwolf's back, lurching him forward. The movement sent a new wave of agony and nausea through his body, even as he felt teeth scrabbling at the base of his skull. Shutting out the pain, he reached over his shoulders, grabbed something small and furry, and flung it overhead and away.

The creature landed with a thud. It was Ayanna, and Thunderwolf realized why he hadn't been seriously injured by the cheetah's bites; her head hung limp from her shoulders on a broken neck. Without leverage, her teeth could not dig into his tough flesh.

Thunderwolf turned, and in the moonlight he could see dozens more shambling shapes coming towards him, moaning and snarling. Behind him, he heard Sher Kahn and Ayanna still trying to rise. The saberlion feared no one, living or dead, but he'd seen enough of these movies to know what would happen if his pals pulled him down. He ran.

He took to the woods, hoping the obstacles would slow them down. Unfortunately, his frantic, stumbling flight was making his cooked joystick scream for mercy, slowing him in turn. It was only fear of Thundera Tiger using the organ for a scratching post that kept him from giving up then and there.

He kept going, digging through the forest, and although the baleful howls of the living dead began to fade behind him, he did not slacken his pace. He gradually realized he was running blind and was now hopelessly lost. His only chance was to find some sort of shelter and try to ride out the night.

Then he hit a small clearing, and there in the center of it was a small, one-story ramshackle cabin. He looked around the clearing carefully for a moment, wary of traps, then broke for it. Nothing stopped him as he charged across the yard and inside, slamming the door behind him.

He looked around the inky darkness for several seconds while his eyes adjusted. Soon he could just make out some outlines of the room's contents, and that led him to a table with an oil lamp. "Won't have a lamp without matches," he observed, and a hands-on inspection of a small end table by the sofa turned them up.

Revealed by the lamp light, the main cabin was cozy and homey, which Thunderwolf interpreted as too small and ill-equipped. Adjoining the main room was a bedroom, and on the other side a small kitchen, which let onto a utility room. There he found a hammer and box of long nails, and he began breaking up the furniture and tables for wood, removing interior doors and nailing everything over the windows of the cabin. Then he locked the front and back doors and secured their windows.

The blur of effort left the lion sweating, fatigued, and above all, sore. He needed a brewski in the worst damn way. He headed into the kitchen, and found an old icebox, the kind that required a block of ice on top to keep the contents cool. Inside he found two cans of warm Budweiser. He took one, drank it, considered the other and decided to save it for later.

He sat down in a wooden rocking chair, the only furniture he'd spared for comfort, and took stock of his artillery. He had the mace and hammer, and had stumbled across a knife in the kitchen, but against thirty-odd ("Very odd," he muttered aloud to himself) undead authors, it didn't look promising. He wondered if they were the Romero-style zombies, full-on cannibals that would tear him to pieces and eat him alive as his limbs quivered. Or they might be the "Return of the Living Dead" variety, and would only want his--

"Braaaaaaiinnzzz"

"Shit!" Thunderwolf yelled and tried to stand, but his body was limp, paralyzed. He smelled rotten, burnt meat and saw Fianna push open a door Thunderwolf had somehow missed. The caninoid's body was scorched and decaying, his armor crusted with rust and old blood. The dog's eyes were milky, and bone poked through the flesh where nature had melted it away.

"Braaaainzz," the dog moaned and grabbed Thunderwolf by the sides of his head. The lion snarled at the dog as Fianna's mouth opened wide to reveal inch-long black teeth and a tounge slimy with rot.

Then the dog stopped, closed his mouth and drew back a little. He turned Thunderwolf's face left, then right, then looked him in the eye for a moment. Then Fianna sighed, let go of the saberlion's head, turned and walked away, still moaning, "Braaaainzzz, braaaaaaiiinnzzzz..."

Thunderwolf awoke with a start to find himself unharmed in the rocker. There was no zombie dog, no missed door, no paralysis. He remembered vaporizing Fianna in their battle, and regretted doing so. As he imagined Fianna snickering from the depths of AOHell, he would have enjoyed killing the nincompoop twice.

"Damn," the lion growled. "Fall asleep again and the next zombie might be real. I need something to drink." He went to the kitchen, got his second beer from the fridge and returned. He sat down and hooked a claw under the tab.

An object the size of a bowling ball fell from overhead and landed in his lap. Thunderwolf screamed, nearly dropping his beer as he grabbed the object with both hands and felt it spin in his grip to face him. It was Axelle's severed head, torn from her body when he'd hit her with his car. The eyes popped open, milky white orbs without pupils or irises.

"Hello, Thunder!" she sneered, then sank her teeth into the side of the beer can.

"AAIIIIEEEEE!" Thunderwolf screeched, lifting his can into the air, Axelle's head still attached. He began raging around the room, pounding the head into the walls and floor, screaming, "Let go! Let go!"

Axelle held fast, growling and giggling as beer flew from the stump of her neck. Thunderwolf staggered into the kitchen to the sink. There, he braced Axelle's chin against the procelain and gave a mighty heave, ripping the can loose. Axe spat out a chunk of aluminum and yelled, "I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul!"

"Swallow this!" Thunderwolf roard and brought his mace down on her head, crushing it to a pulp. Then he turned on the water and giggled dizzily as he rinsed the gooey remnants down the drain.

He turned and looked at his last remaining beer, and tears welled up in his eyes. "You bastards," he whispered hoarsely and fell to his knees, holding the torn container on the floor. "You filthy bastards, you took my can." Then he looked up to the ceiling and screamed, "GIVE ME BACK MY CAAAAAN!!"

As his cry faded, Thunderwolf heard glass break in the main room. He sprang to his feet and started towards it when he heard moaning and fists battering the back door. The kitchen window shattered and the boards flew off as Chanur's hand clutched at the empty air inside. Beside it came a white tiger Thunderan's hand, then a standard tiger paw, all puckered with seared flesh, all reaching for Thunderwolf.

He made a break for the bedroom, aware that it had one window and one entrance, making it the most defensible point in the cabin. He dodged past grasping hands, ignoring the ghastly wails of the undead authors, until he was through the door. He slammed it shut and threw the latch.

He backed away from the door, then noticed a draft. He turned and saw the window broken open, it's curtains fluttering in the evening breeze. He heard the squeak of old hinges and felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. Wide-eyes, he turned to see the closet door swinging open and watched in horror as a familiar form lurched out of the interior.

"Uh, hi babe! Nice to see you again," he said quickly. "Sorry about killing you and everything, but hey, you know I have a problem with premature electrocution, right?"

The undead Shark stared at him, slack-jawed and vacant-eyed. Then the ichthyoid's mouth opened impossibly wide.

Thunderwolf swallowed hard, backing away. "Hey, c'mon, it's not so bad really. Okay, necrophilia's never been my kink, but I can adjust. And if this is about those lionesses, hey, they started it! I-"

Shark's abdomen convulsed, and suddenly Thunderwolf's face was covered by a half-digested, badly mutilated undead poodle. The zombie dog bit and tore at the lion's head, her blows less effective since her toes and lips had already dissolved.

"YAUGHmmmmph!!" Thunderwolf screamed, but got a mouthful of rotting dog guts for his effort. The lion grabbed the slimy, skinless dog and threw it away from himself. The poodle hit the floor with a splat and skidded under the bed. Disgusted beyond comprehension, Thunderwolf puked on the floor in front of him, then ran into the door of the bedroom, crashing right through it and back into the main room.

The little cabin was stuffed with zombie authors. They were all there, except Axelle and Fianna. Most wore the burn marks of their death at Thunderwolf's electrical outburst, but a few differed: RD Rivero was staggering around with a harpoon through his head, Chanur's pupils were mismatched from alchohol poisoning, and Thundera Tiger had more holes than this story’s plot.

They shared one thing in common, though; they were all glaring at Thunderwolf. He turned back towards the bedroom to find Shark in the doorway, the pink, half-eaten poodle in his arms, both smiling toothily. With a sinking feeling, he realized he was trapped.

"Thunderwolf!" a small voice squeaked. "The time has come to pay for your sins with grim vengeance!"

"You fucked that up," the lion said to the disembodied voice. "You pay people back with grim vengeance, you don't pay it yourself. Who the fuck is that?"

The zombies parted, and through the gap came the Dodo. "It is I, John Dead the Undead Hero! Your semantic tricks will not save you now, evil one! Repent of your sins or be destroyed!"

"I remember you," Thunderwolf said. "You're that rat-bastard RD killed. What's your beef with me, anyway?"

"You killed Tatiana!"

Thunderwolf paused to consider. "Maybe. I kill alot of people. But I was pretty sure the Berbils burnt her at the stake in 'Revolt'."

"Enough talk!" the weasel shrilled. "I know you're an author! Restore Tatiana to me or suffer the consequeces!"

Thunderwolf looked around at the undead club members and considered, then said, "Nah, I like 'em better this way. Besides, what can you do to me? I'm into pain."

The Dodo's eyes narrowed, and despite the rodent's ridicuous appearance, Thunderwolf shuddered a little. "Even you can only take so much," the rodent growled. "First we'll torture you to death, then I'll use my powers to bring you back so we can kill you all over again!"

Thunderwolf glared at the rodent, refusing to be intimidated. He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. He looked over his shoulder at two of the most important people in his life: his true love and his most dangerous foe. He did not speak for several minutes.

Then he turned back to the Dodo and said, "Agreed. Here are my terms."

********

In the bar in the basement of Cat's Lair, Chanur was dancing with Peachyra and keeping a careful eye on Fianna. The caninoid seemed content to drink his stout and pet his wife's fluffy white fur as she sat on his lap, lookng at everyone with mild menace.

"Did you mean it?" Benni said to RD at the table they shared with Spark and Kamanchee. "That I'm your tiger?"

"Of course," RD said off-handedly. "Your talents are much too valuable in our quest to destroy Tygra. It would be disastrous if you became mixed up with that 'SWATkats' refugee, Chanur."

Kam and Spark snickered while Benni glared at Rivero. RD did not notice it, instead concentrating on a Rube Goldberg-esque Tygra-killing machine he was drawing on his cocktail napkin.

Thunderwolf was slumped in his chair, out cold from a combination of painkillers and alcohol.. As he snored, Shark left his table and came to Fianna and the missus. He handed the dogs a video cassette and grinned.

"Not bad," Shark said.

"I hope you mean the story and not the footage," Fianna said, arching his right eyebrow. Shark smiled enigmatically, and the dogs exchangd troubled looks.

Then Fianna said, "Hey, how did Thunderwolf keep his promise to the Weasel? He didn't kill Tatiana, and she quit the group."

At that moment, at her home in Mundania, Tatiana the Ex-Sorceress finished heating a can of Spaghetti-O's and gave the dish to her small child, who promptly sent the bowl flying in a tomatoey mess all over the kitchen. She sighed and reached to the paper towels when she heard the doorbell.

"Now you be good while mommy answer the door, okay?" she said, then left the kitchen and walked to front door, undid the deadbolt and opened the it.

"Hi!" the Dodo chirped.

The End