Now, this chapter, in my eyes, is the best look into The Prowler's personality and views concerning others, as well as how he views the "birth" of a soldier should be.
"But then, I'm an idiot"-Joe Quesada
This chapter will also take some time near the end to explain some OOC-ness in characters such as Jason (who is speaking) and why slashers do some of the things they do. I'm sure I'm not the only one that wonders why they go after the Final Girl if she's so pure and chaste.
By sheer instinct and fear, Svern woke up an began putting his Varden combat clothes and full armor on. It wasn't just him, but everyone, in the Varden that knew that if they didn't make it to The Prowler's "new and improved" (as his comrades had mockingly called it after yesterday) training by the break of dawn this morning, there would be a lot more than just hell to pay.
As he left his tent and began hurriedly walking towards the brown pavilion where the crazed war veteran slasher operated his "boot camp" as he called it. He turned his head to look several times at his fellow comrades, all of their faces shrouded in doubt and fear, fear of what they would be forced to do today, fear of how they would be disciplined if they made so much as single little slip-up.
They slowly poured through the door into the pavilion, shoving each other aside in their attempts to make it in before dawn broke through the sky. None of them made a single sound, wary of the fatigue wearing, pitchfork wielding maniac standing at the center of the pavilion.
Svern's eyes lit up with hatred as he got a look at The Prowler, his hands folded behind his back, his pitchfork slung across his back;on his left hip was the strange brown weapon that produced murderous metal faster than any of them could blink. The man did not turn his head at all, standing as still and silent as a statue, simply observing the line pouring into the pavilion.
It took about fourteen minutes for everyone to crowd into the rather small, dirty pavilion, many trying desperately to not cough due to the heavy dust. And yet...a single man shut the door rather loudly, before trying to blend into the crowd as quickly as he could.
"STOP!" The Prowler shouted, causing several soldiers to jump and turn pale. The Prowler shoved those in front of him aside, coming face-to-face with the six foot tall rabid veteran.
Poor damn bastard, Svern thought with a cringe.
"Name, rank, and serial number" The Prowler coldly breathed in an icy monotone that barely hid his pure anger and venom. The soldier bit his lower lip, trying to collect his thoughts as fast as he could.
"Er, um, Gerwin Noylesson, gah, er..."
"ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?" The Prowler suddenly screamed into his face. The soldier was dumb enough to let a scream escape his mouth, and he fell back, nearly falling onto his back.
"But, I don't-"
"But, sir" The Prowler hissed at him.
"But, sir, I don't have a rank or serial number" the soldier named Gerwin practically squealed; the response was one no one actually expected:a legitimate gasp of shock from The Prowler.
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!" he roared. "NO GIVEN RANK?! NO SERIAL NUMBER?!"
Then, suddenly, his voice dropped to a sinister snarl, looking around the room as he said, "Don't worry; I've already formulated a plan for that. But for now, ALL OF YOU, GO OUTSIDE NOW!"
The Varden and Surda's soldiers didn't need a second opinion as they turned, arranged into single file lines, and marched out of the pavilion. None of them uttered a singe noise.
They kept marching until The Prowler yelled for them to stop at the northeastern section of Dras-Leona's wall.
"NOW TURN AROUND!"
The soldiers all turned to face The Prowler, staring at the cloth rag covering his face with a mix of fear and contempt. He walked further until he was only two feet away from them, and hissed:"take all your clothes off."
"WHAT?! You must be out of your mind if you think we're gonna take our clo-" one idiotic Surdan soldier spat, only to receive a right hook to his upper jaw, knocking him onto his ass.
"OH, SO YOU DUMBASSES WANNA TEST YOUR LUCK?! TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES!" The Prowler shrieked. The soldiers didn't feel like being idiots anymore and first took off their armor before they unbuttoned their trousers, pulled off their wool undergarments, and threw off their shirts. It was only then when they noticed how cold the wind was.
Their faces were blood red, their hands covering their genitals as they The Prowler seemed to inspect their naked bodies from head to toe. At last, he looked away and stood up straight before he walked up to Svern's friend, Oglivy, and punched him in the groin.
Oglivy feel to his knees, clutching at his groin, as he screamed in pure pain, his genitals throbbing. Blood feel from his mouth as he accidentally bit into his tongue.
The soldiers looked in surprise and horror as The Prowler seemed to lose his mind and went around, delivering a swift and brutal punch to each mans groin, the screams of pain growing each second, and yet, the soldiers were unable to resist out of fear of a punishment much worse.
Svern bit his lower lip, hoping that he would not have to nearly bite his tongue off when his time came. Unfortunately, it didn't work, as The prowler swiftly removed his hands, punched him in the groin. Svern shrieked horribly, his jaw nearly unhinging before his teeth came back down and chewed into the middle of his tongue. It felt disgusting, what with the muscle tearing in half and the blood flowing down his throat, his taste buds feeling like they had licked metal.
"Now stand up" The Prowler said in another cold monotone. The soldiers, however, didn't seem to hear him, instead still groaning with tears in their eyes, and still on their knees and clutching their groins.
"Are you all deaf?! GET UP!" The Prowler barked, and when they still didn't get up, he forced several of them onto their feet, only for them to fall back to their knees.
"What, are you faggots too fucking weak to STAND UP?! YOU ARE ALL WORTHLESS! GET THE FUCK UP!" he shouted, emphasizing his point with a series of vicious blows to a nearby man who appeared no older than twenty five, and who had matted blonde hair and beady green eyes. The man suffered several chops to his forehead, stomps to his stomach, and hammer fists to his collarbone and chest.
The soldiers pressed their hands on to the ground and forced themselves up, panting heavily as they did so, the veins on their foreheads bulging as they forced themselves to use all their strength to fight back the screaming nerves in every inch of their bodies.
"Now put your goddamn clothes and armor back on! Don't just stand there, DO IT!" The Prowler commanded them, and they slowly did as they were told, slipping on their undergarments despite the fact that it now simply strangled their already throbbing genitals, and buttoning up their trousers and putting their shirts on. However, they found it to be most difficult to put on their steel greaves and chest plate armor, as it required great strength to both pick it up and fit it on, and strength was not really in the soldiers' bodies after they had just gotten punched in their manhood.
"Alright, you useless sons of bitches, here's the drill for today; first, right now, you jog."
"JOG?! After we just got punched in our private areas?!" Svern screamed in rage. He couldn't take it anymore; being forced to jog right after getting hammered in the groin? The Prowler was obviously one hundred times more insane than his twenty two comrades.
The Prowler simply walked up to Svern and elbowed him in his stomach. With a cry, Svern fell onto his back and started wheezing as he clutched at his torso, putting even more pressure on his pancreas.
"You know, I was just gonna make you retards jog three times around the whole city counter-clockwise, but since we've got ourselves a little whiny bitch, it looks like you young ladies are gonna be jogging around this city twenty five times. NOW GET A MOVE ON!" The Prowler spat at them, and quite a few turned to shoot Svern a nasty glare before getting into a single file line and beginning the counter-clockwise jog around the entirety of Dras-Leona.
"You have got to be kidding me! What, have your slow fat asses never ran a singe damn day in your worthless lives?! I want you to jog, not shuffle at such a pace that a drunk guy could beat your ass! START JOGGING!" The Prowler raged as he jogged alongside the soldiers, inspecting every movement of their legs, every bending of their knees, every forward swing of their arms meant to push their bodies forward. Even though they had just been put through a beating of their groins and had been forced to lift and put on their armor, he was disgusted by how little resolve and pure determination the Varden's and Surda's soldiers possessed.
"Sir, we just got our-"
"I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT! EITHER YOU ALL START JOGGING, OR I'M GONNA TAKE MY SAWED OFF, AND BLOW YOUR BALLS INTO HUNDREDS OF GORY CHUNKS!" The Prowler roared at them like an animal. He was sick of their complaining about every single little damn thing, especially when he had survived a hell of a lot worse in basic Marine boot camp.
The soldiers forced themselves to keep running, fearing for their lives if they even opened their mouths. Their legs and groins screamed in protest, the nerves still ringing from the brutal punches from The Prowler. They still could not understand how a man who looked to be at least in his sixties was able to stomp their bodies into the earth and call them out for their lack of skill.
"COME ON! IS THIS HOW YOU WOULD RUN WHEN YOU CHARGE AN ENEMY POSISTION? HURRY UP GODDAMNIT!"
Eventually, the men of the Varden and Surda completed their twenty five jogs around Dras-Leona, but it was just barely. Having to run twenty five times around a city eight hundred sixteen thousand, two hundred seventy eight square feet twenty five times, combined with a punch to the groin, left them breathless and clutching at their stomachs. Several of them were coughing in a harsh, raspy tone. One of them, though, made the biggest mistake of the day:he vomited.
"YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME! VOMITING?! THERE IS NOT GODDAMN VOMITING IN BOOT CAMP! THIS IS NOT A RESTROOM!" The Prowler screamed at him before he started throwing punches into the soldiers jaw and nose; his nose broke with the first punch, but the slasher continued pounding on it. A loud pop emitted from his lower jaw, and they could see blood drooling from his mouth. The Prowler's right elbow came down on his forehead with the strength of a shovel and speed of an arrow. His left foot came down on the soldiers stomach; with that, the soldier cried out before the heaving of his chest slowed down considerably.
"Get him out of my face" The Prowler told two nearby Surdans, his voice returning to a cold hiss. When the Surdans looked around, concerned, he barked, "NOW!" The Surdans quickly obeyed and dragged the soldier away.
"Now get into single file line, and follow me!" The Prowler told them, and they immediately obeyed. When the two Surdans returned, they were greeted with a prompt, "WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU TWO BEEN?!"
"Sir, you told-!"
"I DON'T WANNA HEAR YOU EXCUSES! GET IN LINE, NOW!" The Prowler shouted at them, and they hurried into line, their faces tense with anger.
The Prowler turned and marched back towards the training pavilion. They poured in, organizing themselves into the usual two blobs on each side of the pavilion.
"I can't believe it" The Prowler growled in a chilling monotone practically dripping with disappointment. "You shit eating pussies can't even fucking jog! Your legs are goddamn sloppy, you can't keep your pissy mouths shut because you can't take anything, and you have no sense of organization! How the hell do you dumbasses possibly think you can win this war?!"
"Sir, we-!" Svern was beginning to answer, but The Prowler shot him down instantly.
"SHUT UP! DON'T ACTUALLY ANSWER THAT!" The Prowler shouted at him. Svern, though, was really getting fed up with The Prowler's shenanigans.
"Well what are we supposed to do when you punch us all in our groins?! You think we can just jog around like we're your little friend Jason? And then, the sheer nerve that you have to scream at us for not being able to follow through with your bullshit, when obviously, everyone knows full well that no mere man can do such things! Besides, we have Eragon and Saphira, and now Murtagh and Thorn, to aid us in this war!" Svern cried proudly and rather triumphantly. His fellow soldiers, however, didn't feel the same way; several of them outright facepalmed.
"I remember you" The Prowler chuckled. "You're the same little pussy that whined about having to jog, and who's ass I soundly kicked afterward, and who vomited when he had to climb the wall. Tell me, you big mouthed little bitch, just what the hell is your name?"
"Svern Gerdandsson...sir" Svern sneered, drawing out the last word to show his utter contempt for The Prowler's authority.
"Well, Svern, why don't step up right here and be my guinea pig, if you think you're such a big though guy!" The Prowler told him, motioning for Svern to come stand in front of him.
Despite knowing that he was probably going to humiliate him, Svern was ready for whatever trick The Prowler had up his sleeve. There was no way he was going to let himself be beaten down again by a old man.
Finally stepping up to The Prowler, Svern didn't see just how much taller the man was until he was actually standing in front of him. The Prowler was at least six feet and three inches, and, despite what they had seen of his face, had a bulging muscular chest, which rippled every time he inhaled and exhaled.
"Punch me."
Svern didn't even stop to think why The Prowler had just told him to punch him. He was so fed up with the old mans shit, he was filled with joy at being given a chance to beat him up and show him that, in a real fight, he was just another small name with a big ego.
That was when he felt his right wrist being crushed. Hard.
In a blur of motion, The Prowler stopped Svern's punch cold by grabbing his wrist, before he wrung up his arm over his head and spun him around, finally twisting it behind his back at the elbow and kicking Svern in the legs, knocking him onto his knees while retaining his iron grip.
"You see, ladies, that was the definition of sloppiness. Any senile motherfucker with a quarter of a damn brain could have seen that pathetic jab coming from one million miles away! If you were a hostile, I would have broken your arm at your elbow in half a second, and maybe, if I was in a good mood, in three other places as well. Now try again!"
The Prowler promptly released his grip and threw Svern several inches in front of him and onto the ground. His face red and his heart beating at one hundred and fourteen beats per minute, Svern angrily ran at The Prowler and flung his right fist at the mans face, hoping to augment his punch by running. Alas, his wrist was once again grabbed but this time, The Prowler simply spun him around while still gripping his arm, nearly twisting it upside down and nearly popping the humerus out of the socket.
"Now, this right here is my personal little favorite that you have to be quick to do, and which you have to augment with a good deal of strength from the front or back of your arm. You bring their arm down towards yours, and then, this is where you have to be fast and have enough strength:you bend their arm and slam yours upwards into their elbow, right at the lowermost humerus and uppermost radius and ulna. Like this..." The Prowler explained before he decided to demonstrate with Svern as his dummy.
Svern suddenly felt his arm being brought down at an incredibly speed before it suddenly bent at the elbow. It stopped as he felt The Prowler push his arm up into Svern's arm, before the slasher once again let go and slammed Svern onto the floor.
There was nothing Svern could do to get back at The Prowler now; there was no hate, or rage, or drive to hurt the slasher. There was only humiliation as he realized that there was no way he would be able to best the hardened, bloodthirsty veteran.
"YOU!" The Prowler shouted, pointing at Gerwin. "Get your ass over here! You, go back to the crowd and watch the show-Svern."
Svern skulked back to the crowd as The Prowler demonstrated how to efficiently snap at a hostiles neck by first grabbing Gerwin's wrist as he tried to throw a decent punch before he spun him around, pulled him incredibly close to him, and then wrapped his arm around his neck before grabbing his head, explaining how moving the head in a different direction while the neck remained in a different position would sever the skull from the spinal cord.
Another method of neck snapping he taught was to pull the enemy's head all the way back, once again snapping the neck but this time also crushing the enemy's windpipe. After that, Gerwin was let go and another man, whose name was not even asked, was forced to step up.
Just as long as it isn't me... Svern thought as he made sure to remember exactly what The Prowler was telling them; even if he still hated the man, he couldn't deny how useful ti was to be taught hand-to-hand combat.
In the Varden and Surda, they only bother to teach you swordplay if you decide to get a sword, Svern mused, wondering just why they didn't get information that was this useful.
What-no! I still hate him! Little bastard just knows how to kill better...
Svern was forced to push that thought aside as The Prowler taught them of a technique called a knifehand strike, which he said was often called a "karate chop", karate being some sort of martial art developed in some place called the Ryukyu Islands in some country called Japan. It was a simple open hand with the fingers extended and touching.
"Sever or break the tip of the spine with a strike that is fast and hard enough, it will lead to instant death, as the interference of the brain stem's ability to do automatic functions such as relaying messages through your nerves, telling your heart to beat, and allowing oxygen, the shit we breathe, to be transferred to your brain. If you decide to strike the throat, it takes less than thirty pounds of pressure to crush the windpipe. You can also strike the arteries on the side of the neck, leading to the brain not getting enough blood, and in turn, oxygen" The Prowler explained as he demonstrated by repeatedly attempting to strike the man, who, through sheer fear, managed to jump back in time.
"You're a fucking pussy" The Prowler spat before he punched the man right in the mouth, knocking him flat onto his ass.
"I don't understand how the humans on this world are so damn weak-willed. You fags have obviously never fought an actual battle, where a little thing called the odds are stacked against you."
"Oh, really? At the Battle Of the Burning Plains, it was only about sixty thousand of us against one hundred thousand soldiers of the Empire!" Svern snorted.
"That was hard for you retards to win?! Jesus, I remember when it was just me and two assholes in a ditch with piss up to our knees with a few grenades and twenty bullets having to hold our ground against three hundred fifty six Nazis, and two hundred seventy nine oftheir Japanese boyfriends! And we had to share the grenades and bullets! So shut your fucking mouth, 'cause you're one spoiled little grunt!" The Prowler laughed at him.
The Prowler's test soldier managed to pick himself up as he clutched at his throbbing jaw as blood clogged his mouth. Looking up, he screamed and fell again as The Prowler jabbed his right thumb and index finger right towards his eyes.
"Eye gouge. You curl the hand up into a fist before extending the thumb and index finger, and you press it in nice and deep. Push the eyes into their sockets and, if you're lucky, they're gonna die of pain and blood loss. If you're not lucky, then the enemy will just end up blind."
Damn animal, Svern thought with a sick feeling in his stomach.
"NOW MOVE OUT! FOLLOW MY LEAD!"
With that, they turned and waited for The Prowler to exit before they followed in unison. They marched for approximately six minutes until they made it into the black painted oak building dubbed "Point Defense HQ" by The Prowler, which was the temporary military headquarters of the Allied Army's military.
"Er...sir?" one of the messengers asked cautiously as he saw The Prowler approach.
"WHATCHA STANDIN' AROUND FOR, RECRUIT?! GET ME THESE SIX NAMES!" The Prowler yelled, tearing out and unfolding a sheet of paper before jamming it into the messenger's face. Skimming through it at a blazing fast speed, the messenger nodded and ran up the stairs at the back.
Two minutes later, the messenger came back down with Captain Roran Stronghammer, Jörmundur, Martland Redbeard, and three Surdan higher-ups whose names Svern did not know.
"You asked for us...Prowler?" Martland asked, bitterly hissing the slasher's name with little respect.
"No shit, grandpa! I didn't ask for a cheese pizza!" The Prowler snorted. He turned to the men behind him, who had quickly crowded most of the report-in room.
"Get over here!" he snarled as he grabbed Svern, Gerwin, Svern's friend, an archer named Gull, and another soldier named Loften.
"The rest of you, split into five groups! What are you just standin' there for?! Move your fat asses!" he shouted as the Surdan and Varden's soldiers confusedly moved into rough, uneven five groups.
"YOU!" The Prowler said, pointing to Gerwin. "Lieutenant Colonel Gerwin Noylesson, serial number 19-348-425! I give you command over Alpha Company!" The Prowler pointed to the group farthest to the right, which was Gerwin's left. Gerwin ran to stand right in front of the newly branded Alpha Company.
"YOU! WHAT IS YOUR NAME?" The Prowler asked Loften.
"Uh, Loften Torgetsson, er, sir!" Loften stammered.
"Colonel Loften Torgetsson, serial number 12-692-873! I give you command over Beta Company!" The Prowler pointed to the group right next to Alpha Company.
"YOU!" The Prowler shouted, this time directing his message towards Svern. "Brigadier General Svern Gerdandsson, serial number 16-784-359! I give you command over Charlie Company!" The Prowler pointed to the group right next to Beta Company.
Svern turned and slowly walked towards the front of the group, the eyes of almost every man in the newly dubbed Charlie Company staring at him, their gazes piercing through him, many shaking their heads and whispering about hi, obviously pointing out how he had been humiliated several times now by an old man. Svern couldn't deny their beliefs-he had no idea why he had been chosen to lead a whole company of soldiers!
Svern's friend had been given some rank called Major General and had been put in charge of Delta Company and Gull had received the rank of Lieutenant General while being put in charge of Echo Company, a company made up of archers mostly.
Once it was done, Jörmundur looked at the five companies and sighed, "This looks nice and all, Prowler, but what is the point of these companies and giving these ranks?"
Svern could tell that with that, The Prowler was grinning under his cloth rag and had been waiting for this moment.
"As of this moment, gentleman, I revoke your command of these men."
At that, the jaws of the six Varden and Surdan commanders dropped.
"Prowler, you can't hand over command of these men to-" Jörmundur was sputtering, but Martland Redbeard was having none of it.
"Have you completely lost any sanity you might have had left in your mind?! How can the Varden survive when you give command of its army to five young, inexperienced foot soldiers? You must have many foolish dreams if you think they can fight and lead the Varden into victory against Galbatorix!"
"I trained these men" The Prowler said coldly. "It would not be wise of you to insult your own former men. That is just one of the reasons why your command has been relinquished."
"But, but-Nasuada! We will simply tell her about your insubordination, and then you will be ha-!" Roran proclaimed, but was stopped by The Prowler's laughter.
"I already got her approval of this! Sure, she was being a stubborn bitch, but she eventually realized that you were all a bunch of dumbasses after I got to her to finally realize just how many of her soldiers died because of your idiotic commands. Having infantry charge a great distance, having them leave a secured position to meet a much smaller enemy force farther away-seriously, how did any of you people even get jobs?" The Prowler explained.
"The rebellion cannot be led by these young men who have not even been with the Varden and Surda since the beginning!" one of the Surdan commanders tried to reason.
"And that's the problem:you're all a bunch of senile assholes! No wonder you can't think up decent strategy-you're getting too old for this shit!" The Prowler told them.
"And you are not?" Redbeard spat.
"I'm a slasher, bitch; I can keep up with my brain better than you morons."
Just as The Prowler finished speaking, a messenger burst through the font door, pushing through several of the soldiers in the new companies. His face was fraught with the sweat that came from running a short pace yet at a high speed, as well as with undeniable panic.
"SPEAK UP!" The Prowler barked at him, causing the messenger to jump back at least two feet in fear.
"Umm, er...SIR! We have just received a scrying message from Gannel, the leader of the dwarven clan Dûrgrimst Quan! He has told us that the city of Tarnag is being besieged by the Empire, and that all he can see outside the city walls is a sea of red tunics and black and gray steel! Three of his soldiers are already dead!" the messenger breathed.
"Well, you heard that, faggots? You've gotten yourselves a free chance to prove yourselves today! I want to you to recognize the faces of your company before we head out, 'cause when we disembark at whatever this city is, I'm not gonna have any of you just form into whatever bands you want just because you can't remember who your friends are! NOW MOVE GODDAMIT!"
The five companies filed out of the building carefully, so as to not get crowded into each other and so they could take the time to take a close look at each others' faces.
The six former commanders started asking several messengers to get their armor and shields, only for The Prowler to tell them, "Do you people have Alzheimer?! You no longer have command of any of your men! You stay here!" With that, he left.
The Miner wasn't really in the mood for the bullshit of these goddamn elves. He was just trying to get to see her in her tent, and for some reason, they decided that she could not be disturbed. Well, that was a problem for him. Just one of many.
"Look, I just want to talk to her, it's not like I want to slit her throat..." The Miner groaned as another one of those cat faced anorexics stepped in front of him and shook his head, his face completely unreadable.
"Arya Dröttningu has not announced that she wishes to see you, nor has she said that you were coming. What reason do you have?" the elf calmly asked, a faint smile on his lips. God, Miner hated that smile.
"Oh, so I need permission to see someone? Listen, asshole, I just want to come talk to her, so unless you and your friends are anti-social and have never had a conversation, then I'm sure you understand!" The Miner replied.
The elf and his five other elf guard friends all laughed merrily at this. The Miner immediately decided he hated the elves' laughter; it sounded like the shrill giggling of that one annoying little kid that you wanted to beat up so much for laughing like that, and who you eventually did.
"How do we know you simply wish to make conversation? The princess has no asked for you! If you would simply allow us to see into your mind..." the elf began, but was stopped by The Miner.
"No way I'm gonna let a stupid little shit like you read my thoughts! Why don't you just back off and let me in?"
"Stubborn fools, you slashers are! You are rude, violent, disconnected from reality-"
With that, The Miner had had enough. Quickly balling his right hand into a tight fist, he raised his arm and thrust it forward with a speed born from years of being taught by his father to fend for himself. Upon connecting, the punch instantly tore two of the elves teeth from his mouth, his jaw twisting and becoming disoriented. The elf fell onto his back as his teeth flew into one of his female friends who was so shocked she also fell back.
One of the elves raised his left hand and, with his face red and rage dripping through his voice, he began to shout, "Garj-!". Obviously, it was going to be magic of some kind. Were it not for a female voice crying, "STOP!", The Miner thought he surely would have been dead.
He felt a rush of excitement in his pants as he saw Arya's slender frame coupled with her height, her long black hair, and her curved green eyes. He had to admit, these elven women all looked ready to get his boner.
"What is going on?" Arya asked, her eyes stopping on The Miner; her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed out of bitterness.
"He knocked his teeth out and disoriented his jaw!" one elf cried as she pointed to her wounded comrade.
"They wouldn't let me come talk just because you said nothing about me seeing you!" The Miner shouted, while the elves shot daggers at him.
Arya looked to the wounded elf. "Is what he says true?" she asked.
"Yes, yes, it is true" one of the elves sighed in what The Miner recognized as that weird garbled gibberish called the Ancient Language, which sounded like a poor attempt to imitate the elven language of Lord of the Rings, while the imitator failed to realize that J.R.R. Tolkien was actually a linguist.
She turned to him. "What is it that you wish to speak of?" Arya skeptically asked, raising an eyebrow.
The Miner facepalmed. "Are you people kidding me?! Haven't you heard of just wanting to talk?! Have you elves never had a regular conversation before?!" he growled.
Arya gritted her teeth, perhaps in response to The Miner's hostility, but she just sighed and bitterly muttered, "Fine. Come."
The Miner followed her into the tent, smirking behind his mask at the glaring elves as he thought, Come. Cum. Yeah, this is gonna be my chance to c-
Once he made his way in though, his thoughts were cut off by a slap to the face.
"HEY! What the fuck was that for?!"
Arya seethed with rage at The Miner, her teeth practically making grinding noises against each other. Her green eyes were narrowed tot eh point that they looked like slits, and her face was blood red.
"How dare you humiliate my people and then have the nerve to ask us if we have ever had conversation?! Do you think you can walk around this land and disrespect me just because you do not come from this realm? Because you are so good at killing innocents, and that is the only thing you are good at?! You are just like your father!" she growled, her voice dripping with rage and humiliation.
"Now hold on right there, you melodramatic bitch! Firstly, I am not like my father! Secondly, you have no right to say that bullshit because you don't even know my father! Now quit getting angry at me!" The Miner roared at her, in a louder tone than he would have liked. Then, to his shock, Arya fell onto her bed and began crying.
"What the fuck..." The Miner mumbled as he saw her bury her face in her hands, her whole body shaking with anger and humiliation.
"Are you seriously crying? Really, why is it that every time I say something, everyone takes it the wrong way?" The Miner asked. Arya removed her hands and shot him a look full of pure anger with her red and swollen eyes.
"You couldn't possibly understand!" she heaved. "You at least get respect from your fellow slashers; they seem to be glad to have you killing by their side. My own people only respect me because I am the princess of a dying race. The humans only either think about raping me or scorning me because of what I am, and do not even get me started on that hormonal worm Eragon!"
The Miner thought back to Eragon; he seemed like a glorified, pretty faced tween who acted like he was entitled to everything he saw because he rode a giant, flying lizard with bad breath.
"Yeah, teenagers are real douchebags" The Miner muttered. "But really, I don't see why you're being so whiny like everyone else in this realm."
"Do you know what it is like to be mocked by your own race?!" Arya screamed. "When others are not around, they scorn me because unlike them, I'm not a coward and I decided to be the ambassador for the Varden. And do not get me started on my bitch of a mother!"
"Wait, so you have parent issues too? Well, I would have never possibly guessed..."
"Why, because I'm the bullshit princess?! My own mother despises me for associating with non-elves! She thinks that, because we are the first race to become part of the Dragon and Rider pact, we have the right to look down upon every other being. And yet, that bitch does not seem to realize that my people have been reduced to living in an artificial forest, with only a few thousand of us, unable to reproduce and having to live with the knowledge that not only did a human Rider nearly wipe the dragons out, but that human could just as easily slaughter our whole species! She is a woman who keeps her brain in the past because of her pride over what my people used to be, and is unable to comprehend all others because they do not fit her image!"
The Miner stopped to think about that. From what Arya was saying, her mom was an even bigger asshole than his father, The Prowler. Sure, his dad was a smug, sadistic murderer who hated even other slashers because he saw their experiences in murder to be pathetic compared to what he did through his life, or because he thought they didn't give him his "due respect." And yet, that still didn't compare to hating your own daughter because she wasn't a racist, ignorant bourgeois was something else entirely. To hate your child because they didn't hate every creature that wasn't your species was just plain retarded.
"I gotta tell you, not even my family is that bad. I mean, my dad is a pretty big asshole; I don't know why, but every time I try to be nice to him or try to start a conversation, he makes some smarmy comment, tells me to fuck off, and then walks off to make it look like he's doing something! But hey, at least my dad isn't a racist asshole; one of the only four people he really associates with is Candyman. You know, because they're all old guys" The Miner explained to her.
Arya looked into his eyes, which were mostly hidden away by the goggles on his mask. "But why? Why is your father so unapologetically rude, for lack of any better word?" she asked, her previous anger replaced by bitter curiosity.
The Miner shrugged. "No one really knows. Some say it's because of the war he fought in-seeing so many of his comrades get shot up and blown to pieces, the stench of drying blood and rotting flesh being the only scent he smelled for three years. Some say it's because he just got one move that's really known more for its gore than anything else, and he's had absolutely no work after that. Though, in his own words, he says it's because he finds himself surrounded by idiots."
"Besides Candyman and those other three."
"Yeah. Candyman, The Tall Man, Madman Marz, and Cropsy. I don't know how, but they're all friends. Then you've got the big three of slasher films, Jason, Freddy, and Michael, and they're pretty close. Cordell might look like the standard by-the-book jerk cop, but he's got that hilariously bad partner of his, Joe Vickers. The Creeper and Pumpkinhead are practically inseparable. Even though they may both look like boring anti-social schizoids, The Tall Man and Pinhead are...well, they're able to debate the merits of psychological torture in a civil manner, that's for sure" The Miner told her.
"But, what about you? Are none of the other slashers friends of yours?" Arya skeptically asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not really" The Miner sighed. "They see me as being too young for me to understand anything relating to them; to some others, I'm radioactive just because I'm The Prowler's son. Of course, that doesn't stop the Christmas slashers from being friends with my brother Billy."
"You have a brother?"
"Yeah, he's seven years older than me" The Miner confirmed.
Arya scowled at that. "I never even had any siblings to talk to. All of the men either scorned me or tried in vain to woo me, including my traveling companions Fäolin and Gelnwing; that bastard Fäolin tried to impress me by growing a flower and-er, and Glenwing thought he he could get me over by singing melodies he stole from birds of all creatures! And then the women-oh, they are truly as snobbish as the humans think! Either envious of my royalty or even more scornful of me because they think just like my tyrant mother!"
However, that wasn't what caught The Miners attention. He noted the pause when she was speaking of Fäolin, and how she visibly cringed while saying it.
"This... Fäolin guy. What did he do?"
Arya turned away from him and looked down. She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, her breathing visibly sped up. Finally, after a minute, she opened her eyes and raised her head, slowly and bitterly hissing, "He forced himself upon me."
"Holy shit! He tried to rape you?!" The Miner gasped. If this elf dude had tried that in his realm, he would have gotten a machete through the skull, if he was lucky.
"H-he forced me to make it look as if though we were...happy together. Otherwise, he would have made it look like-an accident..." she said, her voice beginning to break again.
"Well, why didn't you do something?! You know, like use some magic word to blow up his spleen, or slice his head off, or even better, snitch on him to your mom! Despite what those retards in Chicago and L.A. Say, snitching always works!"
"It was never that easy! My mother approved of that sexual monster, and he was very persuasive with his threats" Arya answered.
"So why didn't you just kill him in secret and dump his corpse into a river?!" The Miner asked.
"Because, he had set up a ward around him, at all times that made it so if I tried to kill him, it would have turned on me..." Arya growled, anger and despair dripping back into her voice. The Miner, though, had had enough of her complaining.
"You know why this has happened?! Because you can't stand up for yourself! You let your mom push you around, you let your species push you around, you let some hormonal teenager push you around! They take advantage of you because you know you're not gonna do shit about it!" he shouted at her face, as she glared at him again.
"Oh? And you do not let The Prowler do that to you, I take it?!"
"I don't! I let him know he's an asshole! It's just that he doesn't care! But from what I've seen and heard, you elves are a bunch of over-dramatic pansies that are allergic to criticism. The next time Eragon tries to make a move on you, knee him in the testicles! The next time another elf tries to tell you what to do, slap their goddamn face off! The next time one of those human soldiers acts racist towards you, beat his ass up! Actions speak a lot louder than words!" The Miner instructed her, feeling as if though he was speaking just like his father.
For several minutes, they say in silence, Arya staring at the ground, The Miner looking back and forth between her and the flap of the tent; the elves outside seemed to have gone completely silent. It was highly likely that they had heard the shouting, even if Arya had placed an anti-eavesdropping spell on the tent. Then, as he slowly looked back to her, he saw Arya looking at him.
"Take off your mask" she told him, so quietly it took a few seconds for him to register what she had just said.
Deciding not to question her, The Miner detached his mining gas mask, revealing his face and head to her in full. He let her see his flat, short blonde hair matted to the side, his blue eyes, his cracked lips and tarnished dirty skin, creased from years of having accumulated sweat and dirt.
She ran her hands over his face slowly and gently, her skin smooth and toned against the rough surface of his cheeks.
And then, almost too quickly, she pushed him down onto his back on the bed, making him drop his mask. She stood up, pulling her leather pants down and revealing a thong made of interwoven leaves and grass.
Holy shit... The Miner thought as she unzipped his pants before she pulled his pants down to his knees, getting on top of him.
"Is Arya Shadelsayer in this tent right now?" they heard a male figure ask just outside the tent.
"OH, shit! SHIT!" The Miner hissed as Arya tore herself away from him and he pulled his pants up, zipped them, and placed his mask back on with a speed born of worry.
"Er, Shadeslayer! We have received a message that the dwarven city of Tarnag is under attack by Imperials, and already three of their soldiers are dead! Gannel tells us that they can only see a tidal wave of red and gleaming steel outside their walls! We must hurry, for we are departing now!" the messenger heaved, clearly out of breath from so much running and then having to say so much in so little time.
"We shall report to Nasuada's pavilion right now" Arya nodded as she gathered her sword, shield, and armor before running out. The Miner groaned as he checked his pickaxe, nail gun, and knife. He was getting sick of this Rider war bullshit.
Murtagh had left to learn more of these so called "slashers", the two-legs with sharp blades and strength capable of tearing a tall-ram horn Kull apart limb by limb. Thorn did not enjoy their presence; they smelled of death and human blood, and their mindset was savage, scrambled, and disconnected from reality. To him, they were more self-absorbed than that vain sociopath Saphira, the blue dragon ridden by the cocky two-leg Eragon Stupidass.
Still, they fascinated him; he had heard that one of the slashers, the winged-green skinned-two leg called The Creeper would be eating that night. As for why The Creeper would be eating at that time, the droopy masked-raspy voiced slasher called Ghostface had told him that thee creature had a "schedule."
Flying out to the far eastern edge of the walls of the city Dras-Leona, Thorn sniffed for anything distinguishable, and found something:it reeked of human blood, of pulsating organs, yet it also smelled disturbingly human itself. Diving down to where he had smelled the creature, he landed carefully so as to not shake the earth and scare any of the gullible two-legs.
Turning around slowly, The Creeper snarled at Thorn with an open mouth, its teeth clenched and covered with blood. Thorn could see its features clearly:dark, scaly green skin, three nostrils, a brown trenchcoat, a wide brimmed hat that the slashers called a "cowboy hat", and claws bursting from its hands and bare feet. It grinned menacingly, before it seemed to chuckle at Thorn slightly.
Trying to speak to the monstrosity, Thorn found that The Creepers mind was immensely fortified. However, it seemed to notice that Thorn was just trying to start a conversation, and it let its mental walls down.
What are you eating there?, Thorn asked him. He was sure that that was a pitiful way to start a conversation, but he still congratulated himself for making some progress; he had rarely ever spoke with anyone besides Murtagh, his two-leg Rider who had also been forced into a life of bitter torture and resentment by the same delusional two leg-bearded-egg smasher named King Galbatorix.
The Creeper stepped aside to reveal the corpse of an Imperial soldier, his stomach torn wide open and his entrails peering out, a pool of blood leaking out onto the ground.
I take it you do not like speaking?, Thorn asked. The Creeper's face changed to a bitter scowl. To Thorn's surprise, he spoke to him telepathically.
I consider my voice to be the one thing of me to be...ugly, he snarled. The Creeper's voice was thick with a strange drawl, surprisingly human yet still garbled with a thick rolling of the vocal chords, even more low and thick than the southern accents of the two-legs called the Surdans.
Of course, he certainly didn't agree with The Creeper. Thorn was shocked to have learned that The creeper was ever able to pass for a human in its home realm. Its hair was white yet its twisted face looked relatively...young for a creature of its supposed age.
Just how did you become whatever you are right now?, Thorn asked it, deciding to stray away from enraging The Creeper by telling him that he was ugly.
The Creeper grinned and chuckled again. I know the answer, but no one else does, he said.
Well then why don't you tell me?, Thorn asked him, bothered by The Creepers cryptic mental tone.
Because, the third movie...has not come yet, The Creeper growled. He seemed bothered by this, impatience edging into his mental voice.
Oh, for crying out loud! I'm probably never even going to see any of your movies, and I will not wait until your little third installment to be released in your realm to learn just what you are! I mean, look at you! You have wings that you say a re a separate, indestructible entity, you can regenerate body parts by eating them, and you can smell the fear in people! What are you?!, Thorn roared with annoyance. He wondered why these two-legs acted as if though their "movies" were the things that told their whole story.
With that, The Creeper gurgled disgustingly and narrowed his eyes at Thorn, straightening his back and loudly popping his vertebrae.
I am the ultimate evolution of the hunter, he started explaining, continuing quickly despite the confused look in Thorn's eyes. I stand atop the food chain, the apex predator to feast upon the apex predator. They say I bring sorrow and meaningless death, but I keep their population under control. I make sure that they know their place, that they remain knowledgeable of what might come for them if they think of themselves too highly.
It took several seconds of silence for Thorn to process what had just been said. He mulled over The Creepers words, thinking of the apex predators he was talking about, his place at the top of the food chain...
Humans?!, Thorn realized. You consider yourself to be the predator of humans? But, you eat the body parts of innocent children! How could you consider yourself an honorable hunter when you devour the young and defenseless?
To teach them their place below me on the food chain. To make them realize they are not the highest hunters out there. I am sure that you have eaten a cow younger than you. Do you feel so bad? Do you not instead relish the thick meat and rushing red blood?, The Creeper explained, before he crouched and shoved the dead Imperials gull bladder into his mouth. Even Thorn wished he could cover his ears as he heard the wet chewing of the slimy, soaked organ.
But then why do you enjoy eating the parts of the body where you smell the most fear?, Thorn wondered aloud to The Creeper. At that, The Creeper simply smiled widely, his teeth now completely red.
It is the parts with the most fear that the blood rushes most. Just one bite, and the taste immediately overloads your senses, The Creeper told Thorn thoughtfully, licking his lips and teeth. Thorn snarled.
What do you think of the dragons' place on the food chain?, he asked. It would be interesting to see the creature show some humility before the mightiest race in the world.
You look like you need to be shown your place, The Creeper laughed. Thorn was shocked. Did this two leg-tiny winged creature that hunted innocent children honestly dare to disrespect a dragon?
Oh, really? What makes you think that you have a right to say this about dragons, you small, three nostril bat?, Thorn scoffed. The Creeper simply laughed uproariously.
You are much too vain! You feel that you are composed of pure majesty, scales of gem, your might unmatched. In reality, you are just as vulnerable as any creature, with your wings quite frail, your underbelly exposed, and your eyes thick and compounded, perfect for gouging out. I smell your organs, and it is an utter shame that they are being wasted by you to enhance your pride. Those organs should be in my mouth right now, strengthening my body, The Creeper explained thoroughly, though this did absolutely nothing to satisfy Thorn; in fact, it only enraged him further.
Truly? Well then, how about we see which creature can fly better, you retarded fly?!, Thorn snarled, doing his best to not break out into a full fledged, raging roar. It would do nothing but help The Creepers view of dragons as mere animals and prey.
Suddenly, a familiar voice entered his mind, and he let it through as he was relieved that his mind was finally in the presence of someone he knew and actually loved. He noticed that The Creeper also stopped and tensed, most likely also being telepathically contacted.
Thorn, Murtagh told him.
Murtagh. Why are you contacting me at this moment?, Thorn asked.
We have received a message that the dwarven city of Tarnag is under siege by an insurmountable number of Imperials. We must go and help them push back the Empire, as much as I can't be bothered to feel concerned for those greedy rats, Murtagh explained.
And I presume that you need the satchels on the sides of my saddle?
Yes. Hurry, for we must go now.
Thorn didn't waste a second, as he took to the sky shortly before he landed in front of the city. As he flew, he heard The Creepers mocking voice in his head again.
Well, now you have your wish. We shall go, and we shall see who is the true apex predator of the skies.
"So can you teenage assholes remind us why you're here?" Jason asked derisively.
Eragon still did not feel comfortable standing before most of the slashers. Even with Murtagh, Horst, and his twelve elven guards by his side, he had no doubt that just one of the slashers could tear them apart like they were paper.
"I am no teenager" Horst scoffed.
"We just want to ask you some...questions" Eragon answered, doing his best to not stutter as twenty faces glared at him.
"About what? Sorry, we don't have any answer as to why you're a mentally retarded gay piece of shit!" the living doll named Chucky snorted. Candyman, who stood next to him, laughed.
"We need to get some duct tape for you, Charles!" Ghostface sneered.
Ignoring their taunts, Eragon said, "I wanted to ask you why you kill teenagers!"
The slashers all stopped at that.
"Oh, come on kid! You can't possibly be one of those types who tries to understand why a slasher is a slasher! Don't you understand that someone has to do it?" Freddy moaned while he slapped his hand against his forehead.
"Do what? Dishonorably kill innocent teenagers?!" Horst snapped. Michael shook his head.
"They're not innocent; they have sex before they even reach adulthood, they get drunk before their brain fully develops, and they damage their own bodies with drugs such as marijuana and tobacco" Michael grumbled, though everyone heard him quite clearly.
"But they're not doing anything evil!" Murtagh pointed out.
"Yes, they are! They're damaging their own bodies with disregard and disobeying earth laws, and besides, teenagers are assholes! You know why I'm what I am?! Because teens are animals unable to comprehend each other!" Marty spat, waving his baseball around dramatically to emphasize his point.
"But what about their parents? What about their grief and sorrow after finding out that their children are dead?" Eragon asked with disbelief.
"It's their fault anyway!" Candyman hissed. "They don't pay attention to their kids, let them turn into animals, and then we gotta clean up their misses! If the parents had just disciplined their asshole kids instead of putting them in time out, perhaps we wouldn't be here!"
"You killed a little boy!" Murtagh told Candyman.
"Because he said Candyman five times in the mirror!" Candyman growled. "You try to mock me, I'm gonna come for your sorry ass!"
"Now, now, hold on for a minute..." Eragon interrupted. "If you kill teenagers because they are sinful, then why do you try to kill the so called "final girl"?"
"Because, they provide a good challenge" Jason answered. The looks he got from the three adolescents proved that they were utterly confused, so he elaborated.
"All of the other victims are stupid and unable to use any wits to try to bring us down temporarily. They're not resourceful. The final girl, though, has guts; she's not afraid to go up-close to stab Michael, or to chain me to the bottom of a lake. And mind you, the final girl can be a guy too."
"Like Tommy" Michael muttered.
"Yeah, like Tommy" Jason repeated with bitterness in his voice.
"Now, if you say that you don't talk in your movies, then why are you talking now?" Horst asked.
"Because the directors don't want us to talk in our movies, 'cause they think it's scary" Chromeskull said. "When we're not being sued, though, we're able to talk...well, most of us. Leatherface is mentally retarded, The Creeper thinks that his voice is the only thing about him that's not perfect, Pumpkinheads vocal chords are unable to speak human languages and he only knows some weird undecipherable language, Night School killer never has anything to say, and Madman Marz is too pissed off to string two words together."
The door to the slashers' cabin swung open, and they all grabbed their weapons but did not draw them as they saw Nasuada walk in.
"What do you want?" Jason asked.
"We have received a scrying message from Gannel, the leader of the dwarven clan Dûrgrimst Quan. The city of Tarnag is under siege by a whole sea of Imperials, and already three of their soldiers have died. I have agreed with King Orrin and King Orik that we will send three hundred Varden soldiers and twenty Surdan soldiers, along with sixteen dwarves, ten elves, twelve Urgals, and all of the slashers, to help them defeat the Empires army. We know that it will be a very uncomfortable fit in Saphira and Thorns satchels, but it must be done to deal the Empire a tremendous blow" she told them.
"We shall do it" Eragon nodded, and they hurried out of the cabin as Nasuada turned to leave. With his keen hearing, Eragon could hear that the slashers were also quite eager to go.
"This sounds like Christmas coming early" Freddy laughed.
Now, at the end of my A/N for the last chapter, I said that this chapter would come in AT LEAST four months, so you can't say I was necessarily lying; however, I did not expect this chapter to comes more than half a year later either. Look, I'm sorry, but I currently have three other stories to deal with:End Of Extinction, the upcoming Freddy vs Jason:World WAR 2 (the sequel to Chris Vegvary's awesome Freddy vs Jason:WAR and bridged by my The Burning Of The Prowler) and I'm trying to make some progress, no matter how small, on Awakening. Couple that with other things in my life (like being forced to go do volunteer work) and I don't have much time, even though summer break has come.
But yes, the big Battle of Tarnag is coming next chapter. I have no idea when it might come, but it most certainly won't be soon at all, I can tell you guys that much. Oh, and I have noticed that people are reading, and on other stories, people Favorite and Follow...and don't bother to write a review, not even a single word like "good" or "terrible." Seriously, it is NOT that goddamn hard to type something and clock "review."
Now, I will be slowly rewriting the first eight chapters and some chapters afterward, because I know that they have bad dialogue, unexplained OOC-ness, and stuff that clutters later chapters (for example, the Uni-Silo was supposed to be revealed at the meeting in chapter eight; however, I forgot to put it in there and had to cram it into chapter fifteen). So, if the first few chapters look different, don't worry:it's just me making the first part of the story much better to read and less cringe worthy.