The Best Armor of All Time: A Learning Tale

In Mandara, wild-ass shit goes down every fuckin' day. As a result, Mandara has a long history of wild shit that goes down every day. One such day had some particularly wild shit go down. It was a hot summer day in the Dungo desert. It was a hot day, hotter than any day before. It was so hot, that if you sweated, bandits would hop out of the sand, turn your ass into Swiss cheese, and drink all the fluids they could. Yep. It was hoooooottttt. Anyway, in this desert was a massive cave, the only cave in all the Dungo desert. Many creatures sought to enter this cave for its comfort, but all were consumed by the great dragon Grafthior. He was a bright purple dragon that was over 1000 years old. His signature weapon was a pair of brass knuckles that he used to pulverize anyone who got fresh. Grafthior was known throughout the desert villages as the baddest dragon in the land. That is, until this day.

Marty was a metalworker in the village of Sandy Dirt, which is pretty much the worst goddamn job you could possibly have in a desert village besides town crier and firefighter. It was high noon and Marty was working on something that he would use to finally get at that dragon and free up the cave for his people. With one last flick o' da wriss, he was finally finished. He was an accomplished metalworker.

"I'm finally finished," said Marty. "I really am an accomplished metalworker." He stepped inside his creation and stepped out of his shop. The whole town got a hard look at his creation: a suit of armor made completely out of osmium! Everyone gave oohs and aahs from the safety of their shaded porches.

"He's really gonna do it," uttered one townperson. Marty began to slowly walk out of the village.

Cut to: Marty at the cave.

After several weeks of traveling (osmium IS the densest metal after all) he finally arrived at the cave at dusk. The yellow eyes of the dragon opened up and glared at Marty.

"Who the fuck is tryna step?" questioned the evil eyes of Grafthior.

"I'm here to liberate this cave. All the creatures of the land deserve to use this cave to shield themselves from this hot-ass sun," said the osmium hero.

"Fuck you and your creatures!" shouted the mighty dragon as it picked up a boulder from within the cave and threw it at Marty. Upon contact with Marty's solid osmium suit, it exploded into many rock shards that went out in all directions, skewering a few sand bandits. Osmium can resist up to 462 gigapascals of uniform compression, which is about 67 million psi. The osmium armor, although dusty, was not scratched. Marty didn't even flinch. It's not like he could. You'll find out why in a second. "What the shitty shit?" said the dragon. Grafthior let loose a bellow and flames shot from his maw. The flames licked Marty's suit, but since osmium has a melting point of, like, 5500°F, it didn't even phase him. Marty began to walk towards the dragon. Grafthior had had enough. "Alright you little cheatin'-ass bitch! Time to taste the knucks!" With that, Grafthior stepped outside of the cave, the waning sunlight glimmering off of his scales. Grafthior swung a massive punch at Marty. As soon as the punch contacted with Marty's armor, all the force rebounded off of the osmium armor and reverbed into his arm, causing it to explode off his body. Marty didn't move an inch.

"Ha ha ha," laughed the metalworker. "Everyone knows that osmium has a density of 22.58 g/cm3 and brass, an alloy of copper and zinc, only has an average density of 8.4g/cm3. That's why I couldn't flinch earlier. See? You thought the story wasn't going to come back to that part, but, yeah, it did."

"What does that have to do with my arm blowing off?!" yelled Grafthior as he clutched his bleeding arm hole.

"I don't really know, physics, I guess," said the metalworker. Marty then decided that enough was enough. It was time to end the fight. "Hey dragon, I bet you can't lift this," said Marty as he summoned all his human strength to raise an arm and point towards himself.

"Aw naw," said the dragon. "You can blow up my rocks, diss my flames, and blow off my arm, but when you question my ability to lift, you die!" Grafthior grabbed hold of Marty with his intact arm. "But first Imma prove you wrong!" Grafthior's veins popped out of his neck and arm as he strained to lift Marty in his heavy armor. The dragon strained and squirmed, but to no avail. Finally, as the dragon used all his strength, his arm and half of his ribcage separated from his body as his disembodied arm flexed into a bicep curl over the unmoved Marty. The dragon fainted from being confronted with something he couldn't lift. He died almost instantly.

"Good job, Marty!" yelled a villager from behind a rock. "We saw the whole thing. You're a bloody genius!"

"Yeah, I did it for you all," he said as the pressure hatch on his armor opened and Marty's boiled and wet body fell out onto the sand. Marty's travels through the desert in the summer had cooked the poor man inside his armor. His whole body was covered in sores and burnt flesh; his legs, however, were amazing from moving the osmium armor for weeks. He looked up towards the villagers who now surrounded his body. "Worth," he said as he closed his eyes and gave up the ghost. The villagers gathered his body and gave him a proper desert burial, which consisted of digging a sand pit and throwing him in there. They would forget where they buried him minutes later. They would then found a new village that would become a prosperous city center in the inhospitable desert due to the cave and all the water sources within. They would leave the armor standing outside of the cave in remembrance of his brave struggle and that epic fight/lift-off. Oh, and the name of this booming town? What else? Martyville.

THE END