George Droyd slammed into the craggy mountainside like a meth-fueled missile, his blackened wings folding behind him.
He coughed up blood, but his eyes were locked forward, wide and feral.
Before him, nestled inside a cracked altar, was the shit he had crossed heaven, earth, and hell to find:
A crystal the size of a football, glowing faintly purple, pulsating with pure, undiluted Divine Fentanyl energy.
George staggered forward, drool running down his chin.
"Muh... muhfuggin fent..." he gasped, hands trembling.
He grabbed the crystal, clutching it to his chest like a newborn baby.
The energy sank into his veins instantly — a soothing, mind-shattering wave of pure bliss.
For a moment, the whole world melted away.
Then NiggaLink AI buzzed in his head:
[WARNING: FOREIGN ENTITIES APPROACHING. AWAKEN, MY NIGGA.]
George shook himself out of the stupor, the world snapping back into focus.
"Aight, aight, time to call the white niggas and get the fuck up outta here," George muttered, pulling out his battered communicator.
He pressed the button.
"Ayo, Billy, Zuck, getcho bitch asses ready, I'm finna beam the fuck up, cuh!" he yelled.
Bill Gates' voice crackled through:
"George, you absolute troglodyte, don't you DARE damage the Divine Fent! We're sending extraction now!"
Mark Zuckerberg's voice overlapped, sounding like a robot nerd losing his shit:
"Prepare for immediate extraction! Please, for the love of all that is meta, DO NOT engage in combat, George!"
"Nigga when have I not engaged in combat, tf you talkin about," George said, laughing like a psycho.
But then the temperature dropped.
The light dimmed.
And George felt it.
A cold pressure, heavier than the world itself, slithered across the mountain.
From the shadows, a figure emerged.
Sunny.
But not the whiny simp George remembered.
This Sunny was different.
Clad in pure shadow armor, radiating sovereign energy so intense the mountain itself seemed to bow.
His eyes were voids of endless darkness.
His presence was suffocating.
"George Droyd," Sunny said, voice calm but carrying a storm underneath. "Time to die."
George backed up, feeling his heartbeat spike.
"Ayy nigga... let's talk this shit out cuh... we ain't gotta do allat..."
But it was too late.
Sunny moved.
Faster than thought.
The first punch hit George like a truck coated in shadow spikes.
Bones cracked. Blood sprayed.
George crashed into a rock wall, denting it deep.
"FUCK!" George roared, dragging himself up. "Nigga chill!!"
NiggaLink AI chirped:
[ANALYSIS: YOU GETTIN YO ASS BEAT. RECOMMENDING DEFENSIVE MANEUVERS, BRO.]
"BITCH I'M TRYIN!" George snapped back, dodging barely as Sunny blurred toward him again.
The next minute was hell.
Sunny battered George mercilessly —
kicks, punches, shadow blades —
ripping into him with savage precision.
George fought back, swinging wild haymakers, black fire blasts, fent-powered tackles —
but nothing landed clean.
He was being dismantled.
Overhead, Bill and Zuck watched from their surveillance drone.
Bill clutched his head:
"Oh god he's dying, he's actually dying, WE'RE LOSING THE INVESTMENT!"
Zuck typed furiously:
"Initiating emergency protocols. Attempting to hack into NiggaLink AI's deep reserves. It's the only way!"
Inside George's battered brain, NiggaLink AI buzzed again:
[ENGAGING STREET NIGGA SURVIVAL MODE. TIME TO LEVEL UP, MY NIGGA.]
"Bout damn time!" George shouted, energy flaring up around him.
He ducked a brutal slash, spun low, and sucker punched Sunny dead in the dick with a fent-infused fist.
Sunny grunted, stepping back, shadows writhing in anger.
"You dirty... filthy... CLOWN!" Sunny roared.
George wiped the blood from his mouth, grinning like a maniac:
"YEAH NIGGA, I DO THIS SHIT FOR FUN! WHAT'S GOOD?!"
But Sunny wasn't done.
Not even close.
He raised both hands, pulling every shadow in the mountain toward him —
building a colossal blade of darkness, crackling with the hatred of a thousand fallen simps.
George braced himself, heart pounding.
Bill screamed into the mic:
"GEORGE, DODGE OR DIE, YOU ABSURD FUCKING MONKEY!"
Zuck, voice cold:
"Deploying final enhancement... NiggaLink Overload... Meta help us all."
A new surge of power slammed into George's mind — raw, untamed, beautiful.
He grinned wider, his body shaking.
"Aight. Bet. It's go time, bitch."
As Sunny descended with the killing blow —
George Droyd roared, fent and shadow and rage twisting around him into a chaotic black storm.
The next clash split the mountain in two.
-
The mountain split apart under the violence of their clash.
George Droyd hit the rocks hard, bones snapping, blood spewing.
"Damn nigga... I'm gettin my shit ROCKED," he coughed, staggering upright.
Sunny — no longer the goofy simpcuck he once clowned — floated forward like a grim reaper wrapped in shadow.
Every movement precise. Every blow deadly.
NiggaLink AI buzzed to life.
[ACTIVATING MAXIMUM THUGGERY PROTOCOL.]
"FUCK YEAH!" George roared, charging forward with renewed fent-powered fury.
They collided midair, fists flashing like meteor strikes.
The ground shook.
The sky split.
George fought dirty — biting, headbutting, swinging wild haymakers.
"BITCH ASS NIGGA, YOU STILL A SIMP IN YO SOUL!" George bellowed as he uppercutted Sunny into a boulder.
But Sunny rose from the dust without a scratch.
He moved faster than George could react —
a knee to the gut, an elbow to the face, a blade of shadows slicing across his ribs.
George screamed, thrown like a ragdoll against the mountain wall.
Pinned.
Broken.
Bleeding out from a hundred wounds.
NiggaLink AI sputtered:
[WARNING: TOTAL SYSTEM FAILURE INCOMING. SHIT LOOKS BAD BRO.]
From the surveillance bunker, Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg watched in horror.
"He's losing! He's fucking losing!" Bill shouted, pounding the console.
"We can't lose him now! Not after getting this close!" Mark snapped, frantically typing commands.
They weren't worried about George's life.
They were worried about the Divine Fent.
The real mission had always been about the Fent.
George was just the mule, a disposable nigga in their grand plan.
And now, pinned against the stone, George saw it.
The Divine Fent.
It was right there.
"George, STOP!" Bill screamed into his comms. "DON'T TOUCH IT! DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH IT!"
"Listen, you fucking ape!" Mark yelled. "Step away from it! We need it intact!"
George coughed blood, laughing like a lunatic.
"Oh, NOW y'all niggas wanna speak up, huh? After sendin my black ass into hell for this shit?" he spat.
Sunny stepped closer, shadow blade materializing in his hand.
"You're finished," Sunny said, voice low and dark.
"Nigga you still a bitch tho," George grinned, even as blood poured down his chin.
With a trembling hand, George reached toward the Divine Fent.
Bill and Mark screamed through the headset:
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO—!"
George's fingers brushed the glowing crystal.
It pulsed.
The mountain trembled.
The sky cracked open like glass.
The world held its breath.
-
Pain washed over George Droyd as the Divine Fent burned through him.
His veins glowed. His bones cracked, split apart — and then reformed, stronger than any metal.
NiggaLink AI screamed inside his head:
[WARNING: TRANSFORMATION LEVEL — GODHOOD NIGGA!!!]
Lightning split the skies.
The mountain collapsed.
George rose into the air, wrapped in a shimmering cloak of cosmic fentanyl mist.
He wasn't human anymore.
Well, he wasn't much of a human before, but now:
He was George Droyd, God of Fentanyl, Evolution, Survival... and Ultimate Thuggerdom.
"DAMN, nigga... I'm HIM," George muttered, flexing as galaxies seemed to swirl inside his muscles.
Sunny stumbled back, fear creeping into his broken simpcuck soul.
"W-what are you?" he croaked.
George just grinned.
"Yo MAMMA, nigga."
He moved.
One second Sunny stood there.
The next, George's fist — glowing with fentanyl-laced divine energy — slammed into his chest.
Sunny's body exploded like a water balloon full of blood and regret.
"GOTCHA BITCH!" George cackled, watching the remains scatter like dust.
From their surveillance bunker, Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg stared, mouths open.
"He wasn't supposed to absorb it... he was supposed to deliver it!" Mark shrieked, slamming his nerd fists against the keyboard.
"THIS STUPID FUCKING BLACK NIGGA RUINED EVERYTHING! " Bill screamed, smashing his keyboard.
Before George could do anything, from the mist stepped Weaver, the ancient daemon of Fate — looking fly as hell in a three-piece black suit.
"My nigga Droyd," Weaver said smoothly, extending a hand.
George clasped it.
It was real. Respect.
"You done good, young blood," Weaver said with a small smile. "I knew you'd rise above these bitchmade mortals."
George laughed, heavy and deep: "Hell yeah cuh... ain't no fent too divine for a real one."
Weaver's face grew serious.
"But this world... it ain't yours, Droyd. You weren't meant to rot here. You got your own universe to tear up."
George glanced around.
This place?
Full of snitches, simps, and fentless deserts.
He didn't belong here.
He belonged home.
He closed his eyes.
Summoning all the divine fent, all the cosmic thug energy.
The sky turned black.
Reality itself cracked like thin ice.
NiggaLink AI buzzed weakly:
[Bro... you 'bout to lose all this god shit. You sure?]
George smiled.
"A nigga always gotta bet on hisself."
He punched the air — and the world shattered.
A portal, blinding and roaring, opened.
Earth.
His Earth.
He looked back one last time.
At the broken mountain.
At Weaver giving him a respectful nod.
Then he stepped through.
The light swallowed him whole.
THE END.