Drimo, what IS the Centipede VTuber lore? Reveal it... Reveal it!
I was waiting to have an overlay and a few other things ready before dropping it, but you know what, Centipede VTuber lore, here it is.
The first step is posture.
The second step, strong eye contact.
And the third? You guessed it: A signature move that can annihilate them in a split second.
If you ask anybody, it is clear as morning dew that these are the building blocks to make a good first impression at a job interview. But see, a good and lasting first impression is not essential only to land that job or snatch that internship, it is fundamental for a variety of things, like marriage, seminars, and dungeon keeping.
And it is that solitary shining element in a bucket of otherwise drab boring everythings that matters here. But, ah, let us not get ahead of ourselves, yes? In media res is delightful, but today, this humble narrator wishes to relinquish unto you, without mirrors and smoke but definitely with bells and whistles, The Story of the Centipede of Want.
Once upon a time, within the ruined walls of a famously affluent cathedralās brick and silver walls, there lived the Centipede, as he was known back then. As attentive ace detectives among readers might be able to discern, the Centipede was a centipede, long and eerie, body of man and beast alike everywhere it mattered, famished for as much sustenance as his forcipules could catch first, and as many things that he could get his numerous hands on a very close second. Warm in winter and cool in summer, the ruined cathedral was a comfortable place to live in, where a spring feast on autumn was common occurrence for the Centipede. Insects, such as scavengers and looters, from hereon morsels, habitually wandered in, looking for the old relics of silver and amethyst ripe for plundering in the ruins of the withered house of worship, becoming sustenance for its longest-lived predator, the four-armed, hundred-legged menace that prowled its once decadent halls, filled with the stagnant air of the hunt. Truth be told, the cathedral had long been looted for most of its relics and arcane implements, its silver goblets and amethyst utensils of all sizes and shapes, so the only ones that wandered in were fools and lesser beasts looking for refuge. It was a peaceful, easy life for the Centipede.
But at the same time, something like throbbing roots thrashed in the back of the Centipedeās head, something that tasted of cyan and grey and had no name, as far as the menace knew. Initially, it was merely a light jostle, but as time passed, the thrashing intensified like a landslide, eating away at his every thought, crunching harder and louder than his mandibles did the carapaces and cheap iron armor of the unfortunate interlopers caught in his granite and silver hunting grounds:
Cyan and grey and rancid and bitter. The Centipedeās mind was impregnated by throbbing unease, its quaking manic, its incisors sharp, its vice grip tight. During the day, it was common for the Centipede to mock the bishop and the priests of the once opulent church, begging day after day for tithe and tribute, only to feast behind closed doors of oak and silver. And yet, he himself was much the same: Preying on weak interlopers during the day, pretending to be a grandiose warlord among what little silver and amethyst decadence was left in the ruins during the night, devoid of any real strength and riches he could call his own.
In his ideal world, for each leg he had, heād wear a different, uniquely etched and engraved silver band. In three hands, heād hold silver goblets filled with the worldās finest wine, mead, and rum, aged in mahogany casks, with touches of juniper berries, and on his last hand, heād hold an oversized goat leg, from which heād munch on in between rounds of ambrosia. Ah, to be the Centipede! Or rather, the powerful entity in his wildest dreams!
Realization is the sharpest blade of them all. No matter how much you temper your carapace, that which is crafted from denial canāt ever hope to stop such a spearhead. Thus, the Centipede came upon an epiphany: He simply had to get that which he desired with his own hands, and that cyan and grey pulsating cluster of fangs would be gone! And so, he got to work: Heād go to one of the silver mines the town was famous for and become its biggest, meanest threat! The head honcho of harm! The throbbing titan of threat! The punishing pimple of pain! The alliterative administrator of annihilation! Oh, with mandible and might, heād deliver the most poignant of Rectal Ragnaroks and Colon Crucifixions to any whoād dare wander into his domain!
Heād be the most feared Boss Fight of all!
The Centipede rushed out of the church, his two rows of endless legs clacking a demented tarantella as he headed right towards the hill, his putrid eyes fixed on the silver mine. It was time to begin his reign of rambunctious terror!
Or so was the plan. The plan that was supposed to work. Do you think the plan worked?
It didnāt. It really, really didnāt.
To say the Centipede feasted upon manure would be an understatement. Hereās some statements from adventurers that fought him:
āThereās definitely the intimidating factor of something with more legs than a ballroom, but his moveset was predictable. Kinda easy experience and silver, not gonna lie.ā -- Anonymous Rogue, Adept Adventurer.
āWell, how to say this... His boss music could use some work, and only two life bars? I just got done fighting something with four phases, so this was... Well, anyways, at least he dropped a nice skill book.ā -- Anonymous Mage, Adept Adventurer.
āI cheesed the dumbass with 100% physical damage resistance because he doesnāt have any elemental damage, lmao get bopped idiot, I kept using my overhead helmsplitter and he kept crouching and blocking in panic, you love to see it.ā -- Anonymous Samurai, Adept Adventurer.
āHeās kind of a Stage 3 boss, nothing special, heāll never make it big.ā -- Anonymous White Mage, Adept Adventurer.
āmfer wont drop the damn skill book whats the drop rate on that shit i bet the skill sucks anyways, ive kicked his ass like 14 times now orzā -- Anonymous Warrior, Novice Adventurer.
Alas, it turns out that outside his domain of brick and silver, the Centipede wasnāt so big and mean, after all.
And thatās where most stories end: The monster gets conquered by adventurers, and everyone learns how to cheese it. A nice The End in fancy font then drops in front of you and you go to bed.
But youāre not going to bed today, shitlips.
Because this story is not over.
He wasnāt going to take it.
He didnāt have to take it.
The Centipede rose back to its many feet and decided that heād start from square one: Heād learn what makes a good boss fight no matter what! Then and there, the Centipede vowed to accrue a staggering amount of health bars, to have as many phases as he had legs, to have a moveset so diverse and foul that adventurers would get acid reflux merely by hearing about the shocking amount of tricky delays and annoying status effects his attacks entailed, to have the single most facemelting ultrabanger of a boss theme, and to never, ever again crouch against an overhead.
That day, the Centipede became The Centipede of Want, and what is it that he want? To be the biggest, meanest Final Boss ever!
...But that requires training! A lot of it! How did he decide to go at it? Why, by streaming a veritable variety of video games, of course! By learning from the boss fights of a deluge of games, heād be able to craft new strategies most rancid and concoct novel attacks most putrid. Plus, what a better way to learn of the adventurersā way of fighting than by being the adventurers in games? Not to mention that he could naturally engage with humans in conversation and have them unwittingly reveal their weaknesses to him! It was genius! The Centipede of Want headed to the cathedralās ruins one last time, grabbed every last piece of silver and amethyst not yet plundered in there, and traded it for a streaming set-up in town. Using the last of the silver, he fashioned a mask for himself to signify that he was done being the complacent bully that roamed the walls of that decadent cathedral.
It was time to begin training.
Heād feast on weaklings no more.
Heād eat gods from now on. Heād seek adversity. Heād seek strength.
And the rest would naturally follow.
