"It's more complicated than that—"
"I really don't think it is."
"Of course you wouldn't."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"There are problems that can't just be solved with your fists, the solution comes from using your head—"
"I use my head! Occasionally, a head-butt is far more effective than a right-hook."
The Warlock planted her own head squarely into the palm of her hand, and shook it ever so slightly in frustration. "Okay, okay. I think we're getting a bit off-track; let's take it back from the top."
The Titan held his hands up in a submissive gesture. "Fine, but I don't see what the point of this is."
"The point is to make you think, you—!"
The Warlock cut herself off, clenching her hands into fists and making a very visible effort to not insult her friend. After taking a moment to collect herself, she took a deep breath and let her hands fall back to her sides.
"Alright; the pros and cons … of punching everything to death."
She practically spat the word, unable to keep the venom from seeping into her tone at the very idea. "First, I will present my side of the argument—then, you can present a counter-argument."
The Titan nodded understandingly. "Seems fair."
The Warlock held up one hand, and raised a finger. "First and foremost, a punch is such an inconsistent and unreliable method of killing one's opponent—it relies entirely on too many variables, like one's strength, the location of impact, the constitution of the target, the angle … it all becomes far too much to calculate for at a certain point."
The Titan stared at her blankly. "It's … it's a punch."
Ignoring him, she moved forward with her argument. "A firearm, meanwhile, has a predictable outcome. You pull the trigger, and the target dies. Alternatively, if you're of the more … ahem, intelligent breed, like myself, there are plenty of ways to focus your light into a weapon of pure energy. With the power of your mind, you'll never be running low on ammunition—you are the ammunition."
The Titan raised his hands in the air, somewhat indignantly. "That's what I've been saying! A gun can jam, and you can find light hard to come by when facing the Darkness—but my muscles will never fail me. I don't need ammo, I don't need to think, I just need to shove my fist as far down an enemy's throat as I can manage." He pointed a finger at her. "In your own words, I am the ammunition."
The Warlock tried to find her voice a few times, failing each as she realized that her own words had been turned against her. Clasping her hands together with a little too much force, she growled, "Alright—let's run through some combat scenarios then."
The Titan groaned. "Ugh, can't this just be over? Let's agree to disagree—"
"No! This isn't over until you see I'm right!"
Before he could protest, she began speaking. "A Fallen Vandal drops on you from the ceiling, and begins wrestling for control of your gun. What do you do?"
The Titan clenched his hands into fists, and then mimed releasing them. "I let the gun go, and punch the Vandal."
The Warlock sighed. "Alright, fine—in that case, it works. Now, you're venturing into the depths of the hellmouth. You hear a shrill scream behind you, and turn to see a Cursed Thrall approaching you. What do you do?"
He hesitated to answer for a moment, putting a hand underneath his chin. "Just one?"
She tilted her head. "Uh, yeah?"
"Are my shields up?"
"I … I mean, I guess so, but—"
"I punch it."
The Warlock glared at him, and for a brief moment, the Titan believed that she was about a moment or two away from bursting into flame and shoving a fiery sword through his chest. "You're patrolling on Mars, and suddenly a sniper-round impacts into the dirt next to you! You have no idea where the shooter is, what do you do?"
"Is there cover nearby?"
The Warlock's expression became less angry. "There's a boulder to your right."
"I duck behind the boulder."
She blinked a few times, stunned by his sudden shift in modus operandi. "Um … alright, you're in cover."
"Is the sniper still shooting at me?"
"They're taking a few more shots, but it's from the other side of the boulder."
The Titan thought for a moment. "Alright—I step out from behind cover, wait about half a second, and then cast a Ward of Dawn."
Her eyes widened, realizing that he was actually planning ahead. "As you cast the Ward of Dawn, another crack rings out. You watch as the bullet that would have hit you just barely is stopped by your bubble instead."
"I assume I saw where the shot came from?"
"There was a small burst of light from the top of a bluff to your left."
The Titan physically pointed to his own left, getting drawn into the visualization. "I begin sprinting out of the bubble, and use my remaining energy to manifest a void shield on my arm."
The corners of her mouth tugged upwards ever so slightly, watching the way the scenario was playing out. "The sniper shoots another two rounds at you, but you manage to deflect both with your shield. They take a pause to reload, and you arrive at the base of the bluff."
"I crouch down, launch like a javelin into the air with arc energy, and slam down a few meters away from the sniper."
"Alright, you're about five meters away. It's a Psion, and you can see he's nearly done reloading."
"At this point, I'm probably close to exhausted of my light," he reasoned.
"It's a possibility," she conceded.
"And if I go for my gun, he's going to finish reloading."
"Also a possibility."
The Titan clapped his hands together. "Alright, so I run towards him to close the gap. I have to keep him from getting that gun up, so I ready my right arm to do so."
"Okay! You're running to cross the distance between you, and you see him finally click in the magazine just as you arrive—"
"And I punch him."
The Warlock fell silent. A full thirty seconds passed without either of them saying a word, and the Titan was beginning to worry a little for his friend—namely, that he might have outright broken her. "You alright?"
"I … you …" Her voice was barely a whisper, and she seemed like she was struggling to keep her composure. He noticed a large vein bulging in her forehead, like she was trying to keep her brain from leaping out of her skull and strangling him.
After another few moments of this, she let out a deep breath, and all the tension faded out of her body. She was, for all intents and purposes, a broken soul.
Pausing momentarily, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You look like you could use a drink. Do you want to get a drink?"
He heard a small sniffle emit from her drooping head. "Yes."
"Alright, c'mon. I'm buying."
This short story was voted on by my patrons. More writing available on my (P)atreon page of the same username.