You heroically point at Lord Cramulock™ with your DinoSword™. It shimmers and sparkles, reflecting the practical fluorescent lighting of the DinoCaveLair™.

“How about a little taste… of Dino-Might™?” you shout rhetorically. The other DinoSwords™ cheer, then cough up blood, as you stand strong.

“You call yourselves the DinoSwords™, but your weapons are also called DinoSwords™? I find that irritating and confusing. BarfBorgs™… BARF!” commands Lord Cramulock™ with his grating shriek.

Acid flies at you from every direction. Luckily, your DinoSword™ is acid resistant, and shields you from wave after wave of robotic spew.

As you dodge these blasts, you consider the point Lord Cramulock™ made. The naming is a little weird. It implies you’re nothing more than your magical sword. But it doesn’t define you. After all, you have other interests. You love calzones, leading groups of teens, and you have parents who love you (presumably). Also, sometimes the DinoSwords™ are referred to as “Masters of Champions™,” and what does mean exactly? Masters of the DinoSwords™, perhaps, but who are the so-called champions? Are the swords champions? If so, of what?

Distracted, you take a splash of acid to the back of your leg! You crash to the ground. The DinoSword™ falls from your hand. Lord Cramulock™ takes your DinoSword™, and you transform back into a normal, bleeding American teenager.

“Any last words?” Lord Cramulock™ asks.

“Eat farts,” you reply. The other DinoSwords™ chuckle. Lord Cramulock™ looks genuinely hurt by your insult. Even after capturing all the DinoSwords™ to power his MagnaMutation Ray™, Lord Cramulock™ will always wonder if he’s the kind of guy who eats farts.

THE END