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Punch Club ~ATH
[VIII]
tortugaTerran began pestering tuneHarmonic at 2:44 PM
TT: I guess we got everything set up alright…
TT: So according to THE GUIDE, the next thing we do is start making items.
TT: And the first step of that is getting some Cruxite out of the Cruxtruder.
TT: So I guess we have to open it 0.0
TH: on it
TH: here all we have to do is bang on the top and it pops off
TH: lemme just use this racist voodoo mask off the wall
TT: Ah! No!
TT: Come on, man, what did I tell you about breaking my Mom's crap?
TT: You're scaring the kitty!
TT: Poor Crackers!
TH: oh sorry kitty
TH: didn't see you there
TT: Here let me just WIELD my SHOVEL and pry it off…
TH: ok i guess that works too
TH: but why even bother bringing it up to me if you were just gonna do it yourself?
TT: Because I'm a team player, dammit.
TT: Oh, here's the shiny thing.
TT: So what do I do with it?
TT: Nico's just flew out the window, but mine seems to be following me around.
TH: well with mine i basically just dropped bootsy's ashes on it by accident and it turned into his ghost
TT: Aww! Bootsy!
TT: Seems cute at first... but not when I remember what an annoying fucker he was.
TH: tell me about it
TH: he's still begging for food and barking at nothing
TH: good thing mara got rid of all my trash or he would've dragged it all out looking for pizza crusts
TT: Maybe we can look around for something cool to put in it then.
TT: Just try not to drop any more freaky masks or haunted porcelain dolls in it, or I'm gonna be pissed.
TT: Actually this one might be cool. Akira sent us that one lol.
TT: When is he heading back to school? I gotta see him one more time before he leaves.
TH: ah man
TH: lol he might not want to hang out anymore after that ass kicking
TT: The one in the parking lot?
TT: Didn't sound like you went too hard on him.
TH: no not that one
TH: the one sunday night
TH: shit now i gotta tell you that whole story too
TH: buckle up
~The Past~
It had been a bit of work getting inside, but Kato finally stood on the abandoned factory floor of the Corn Belt Brewery. The light coming in the high windows from the distant streetlights was not enough to illuminate the drifting dust motes the way sunlight would have, but Kato could feel them tickling his nose nonetheless. His route inside had begun by slipping through a gap where the chain link fence was curled away from one of the posts, followed by a trip up a makeshift staircase made out of dumpsters and stacks of old crates, and finally through an exposed second-story hatch that had once been some sort of air duct or corn-dumping chute. Though he had to jump down to the floor, he had pushed a mobile staircase, like the ones you find at big box stores, over to the hatch for his soon-to-arrive guests.
Across the open factory floor, silent conveyor belts ran in long, parallel lines. For nearly forty years, this plant had been a bustling beacon of industry, home to one of the city's most iconic local brands. Then, in the mid-Eighties, the company had decided to move its operations to the farmlands south of the city, constructing a brand-new factory. The old one had remained standing, the Corn Belt logo painted vertically along one of its towering corn silos too much of a cultural icon for the citizens to favor its demolition. Now it was a playground for urban spelunkers and graffiti artists, and the perfect place for Kato to set up his Fight Club.
"This was supposed to be a joke," he muttered to himself. How did it get this far? Kato was a consummate performer; he simply couldn't shake his commitment to the bit. It was the same reason he was still wearing his sunglasses in the darkness.
He heard voices outside and saw the beam of a flashlight dance across the ceiling. Either the cops had spotted him (unlikely, given his extreme ninja skills) or his friends had arrived, insulting the idea of a covert operation. He scrambled up the metal staircase to poke his head out and investigate.
"You guys trying to get us caught?" he called in his loudest stage-whisper. The shock of his sudden appearance shut them up immediately. He directed them to the path over the boxes and backed down the stairs.
Ricky popped in first, bearing a case of the brewery's namesake beer. "Thought it would be appropriate," he said, grinning as he held it up to show Kato. Following him were Akira, showing all the rubbernecking wonderment of a tourist; Fred, cool and collected behind his glasses, glinting in the darkness; and Kid Igijuana, an amateur rapper who, like the other friends they had met from the public school, had been too cool to be content with the rest of the normies.
"What's up, cuz?" Kid said softly, slapping palms with Kato. "So you for real with this Fight Club?"
"We'll see how everyone feels after tonight, I guess," Kato shrugged.
"I'm ready to rumble!" Ricky shouted. "Show some warrior spirit!"
"I am going first!" Akira declared, stepping self-importantly in front of Ricky. "I gave a pretty terrible display on Friday night," he admitted, "but that was not my full power. Let me show you what I can really do!"
"Alright, step into the ring, then," Kato invited, gesturing to the far side of the factory floor. Kato had showed up early to scout the building and had decided on this area for the arena. Against the wall, there was a square depression, only about a foot deep, with a drain in the center. It was surrounded on three sides by chain-link fence (and on the fourth by the concrete bricks of the factory wall), and bore a gate-like door also made of chain-link. It would be a steel cage match for the ages.
Akira stepped into the arena, adjusting his glasses and hiking up his dirty gym shorts. He once again assumed his rigid but practiced fighting stance.
"Bringing something new this time?" Kato asked.
"I was just a bit rusty. But this time I will definitely win!"
Akira started in with the exact same kata, following the exact same series of motions. He was faster this time, making it clear that he had been practicing, but it was still just a routine to him. He was a stranger to real fights, unable to change his attack patterns as the situation dictated. Kato made short work of his, knocking him onto his ass on the concrete floor.
"That's really all you got?" he taunted.
"You Americans are so violent!" he fumed, his face pinched and growing red. "I quit!"
Kato sighed. He hadn't even broken a sweat. He offered to help Akira up, but Akira pointedly ignored it, huffing as he rolled over and heaved his fat, bruised ass out of the arena.
"Off to a real exciting start," Kid mused.
"Well come on, then!" Ricky challenged him. "It's our turn in the pit! Let's show these fools what a real fight looks like!" Kato hopped out, glad to let someone else do the strifing for once.
Exciting Golf ~ATH
It was a beautiful day to be the Super King. His private shuttle, resplendent in gold plating and stocked with wine, crudités, and plush upholstery, had just dropped him off in his private golf course on Skaia. Now he stood at the head of the fairway, watching his perfectly whacked ball soar through the dreamy sky.
"Another hole in one!" he called to his caddy. "Make sure you write nicely so I can have it framed in the clubhouse!" The tiny pencil trembled in the caddy's hands.
Super King sat daintily on the passenger side of his swanky custom golf cart and glared at the caddy until he finished writing and jostled over with the Super King's bag of clubs. As they cruised across the splotches of black and white grass (hardly perfect squares when seen up close), Super King gazed out over the rolling landscape and breathed deep.
Normally, the air on Skaia was fresh and pleasant – a spring meadow in bloom. Now it was acrid, tainted with oily smoke. The Super King watched a series of explosions pop up just above the horizon, beneath a sky colored red with prophecies of bloodshed, and understood the source of the foul smell.
"Oh, look, a fireworks show, just for me!" he crooned, clapping his small hands ever so softly. A V-shaped squadron of Prospitan Pawnfighters passed overhead, leaving bright white contrails. The Super King thought of the strapping young man back at the castle, the one whom he had asked to watch his special balls. He hoped the lad was being gentle with them, neither fondling them too roughly nor knocking them about.
The pulled up to the green (a bit of a misnomer when the grass is white) and the caddy hopped out to retrieve the ball.
"They keep the grass short around here," he explained to his ignorant servant. "It's tradition."
As they crested the hill toward the next tee, the Super King wrinkled his royal nose at the scene beyond. The pleasantly rolling landscape was punctured by a towering spire, so tall that its pointed tip was touching the bottom of the clouds.
"When did that tower get there?" Super King wondered aloud. "It's much too tall. It's like, what are they trying to prove? That they're better than me?" He scoffed. "Have it torn down at once," he said to the caddy driving the golf cart, "and punish those responsible." The caddy looked around, not sure which job Super King would rather have him do.
"Must I do everything myself?" Super King groaned. He scooted over, booting the caddy out of the cart and took off down the fairway, leaving the caddy to walk back to the clubhouse and alert the troops himself.
Punch Club ~ATH
[IX]
Ricky was no match for the Kid, tapping out after a face-bloodying punch that sent him crashing into the chain-link around the pit. He tromped out of the ring and sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a cool beer against his bruised cheek. Kid Igijuana leaned against the doorway, grinning at his defeated opponent as he wiped sweat from beneath the edge of his snapback hat.
That's when a slow, sarcastic clap began to fill the cavernous room. Kato whipped around, peering into the dark to locate its source. It seemed to be coming from the same hatch where they entered. A figure emerged from the dark corner at the top of the rolling staircase.
"Nice fight, you stupid pussies!" she taunted. "Great to see you stand up and take your ass-whooping like a man for once, Ricky!"
"Grey?!" Ricky shouted.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Kato asked, trying hard to maintain the cool indifference in such a panicked question. "I thought you were going to Colorado."
"Obviously I ain't left yet, numbnuts!" she spat back. As she crossed the room, she held out her arms in a challenging swagger, and Kato could see a half-empty bottle of Karkov in one of her hands. "I had to come back and kick your ass one more time, you punk-ass ninja douchebag!"
Inviting her into his home had been one of Kato's worst mistakes. The girl knew how to throw a party, but she did not know how to hold her liquor. Every night with her was a blackout one, ending in some new drama, some new fight, some new hole in Okasan's wall.
"You still owe me for that window, idiot," Kato told her. The last night they had seen her, months ago, she had thrown a glass ash tray at Ricky's head and barely missed – hence the ass-whooping she felt he still deserved.
"That redneck dipshit still owes me a fair fuckin' explanation!" she shouted, pointing at Ricky.
"Damn, Grey, are you for real right now?" Ricky scoffed. "We were both drunk as shit, you knew what that was! Ain't nothing special about a blacked-out one-night stand! And then you steal my phone and go through my texts and expect me to fuckin' apologize to you?! Hell no!"
Fred cleared his throat. "Hey, guys, maybe we shouldn't scream so loud so the cops don't-"
"I'LL FUCKIN KILL YOU!" Grey shrieked. She smashed her vodka bottle on the side of a conveyor belt and charged over toward the group. It wasn't Kato she was coming for, but he had to step in. The battle-worn Ricky hadn't even stood up yet, and Kato thought that in her state, Grey might even kill him.
Kato let her believe he was going to let her pass, but his hand snapped out at the last moment and grabbed her around the wrist holding the broken glass bottle. He wrenched her back in front of him, using his free hand to gently snatch the bottle away and toss it across the factory floor, where it shattered somewhere in the darkness. He continued pulling her past him and sent her stumbling backward into the pit. She nearly fell down as she stumbled over the ledge, but she held herself together enough to snatch onto the chain-link with curled fingers and keep herself upright.
She glared at Kato from beneath her greasy bangs, lip raised in the snarl of a caged lion. Before she could pounce, Kato stalked forward into the arena, and Fred quickly shut the cage door behind him. Grey and Kato began to circle each other.
Grey suddenly went in swinging. Kato blocked the blows, taking them on his muscular forearm to get a gauge of her current power level. She had swung at him before on several of those drunken nights, but he had played it off, dodging and de-escalating until she wound herself down. After all, they had been friends then, and he didn't want to hurt her. Now, it was quite different. If he didn't put her down in this fight, there was no telling what sort of havoc she would cause.
Her attacks became very predictable. She was sloppy drunk, swinging blindly and with all the power her short, stocky frame could muster at once. Kato waited for an opening and cracked a good one across her jaw. She stumbled, then turned to face him again, that dark animal look growing stronger.
She screamed, throwing another wide swing. Kato stepped back and grabbed her arm, using her momentum to throw her into the fence. When she bounced off, Kato came in strong with a punch that struck her right between her eyebrows.
Grey spun dizzily, crashing into the fence again before toppling over in a heap of limbs. Her head rolled off her upper arms and hit the concrete with a soft, hollow BONK.
"Ding ding ding!" Ricky shouted, imitating the bell. "Victory by T.K.O.!"
"Jesus," Kato panted. "Help me drag her out of here. We can stick her in the corner over there."
~The Present~
tortugaTerran was pestering tuneHarmonic at 2:49 PM
TT: Man! I can't believe Grey showed up!
TT: God, of course she would…
TT: I was wondering what she was up to.
TH: still a shitshow, apparently
TT: We had some good times with her, too, though.
TT: I wonder if she would like this game lol.
TH: really?
TH: you would invite her?
TH: over, say...
TH: ANY of our other friends?
TT: Uh, haha, no...
TT: I DID send it to our other friends, though. Ricky and Todd and Akira and all them.
TT: Just wondering if, like, she would also enjoy it.
TH: probably not
TH: i have a feeling none of those other guys are gonna get into either.
TH: tbh this game is pretty dense
TH: feels like i put in a lot of work for just a little progress
TT: Man, if there's a lot of grinding in this game, I'm gonna get bored. Idk what I'm gonna do then…
TT: Can we even quit playing this game? Like is that even an option?
TH: i can't even change my clothes
TT: Hey so I just had an idea.
TT: You can mouse over my front yard, right?
TH: yeah
TT: Try seeing if you can delete some dirt for Grist!
TT: Maybe you'll drudge up some of those gopher bastards too :)
TH: uh well let's see
TH: i guess i selected this block of dirt...
TT: Aw man, not there!
TT: That's the garden!
TH: uh shit i didn't mean to lift it up
TH: how do i set it down?
TT: Watch the Sprite!
TH: oops
Pengy ~ATH
In a penguin village, watching the hatchlings was a job everyone shared – mothers, fathers, even neighbors. Penderson's turn had been the proudest moment of his life. The village rookery was a sizeable lodge in the center of each penguin village, where mothers delivered the eggs, took turns hatching them with the father, and finally began to raise and teach their little babies. After a year, the little penglets were grown enough to move out of the communal housing and into their families' homes in the village proper. It had nearly been a year for Penderson's young ward – she would be moving out and beginning her training to take over her parents' long-unoccupied role.
Her egg was discovered abandoned in the snow several miles downhill from the ancient temple where her mother served as a venerated shrine maiden. The village elders recovered the egg, saying only that a terrible fate had befallen those at the temple. They refused to elaborate, to protect the innocent ears of the distraught villagers, but most seemed to agree the temple was likely buried in the last avalanche. And so, with no mother or father, young Pingas, heiress to the shrine maiden, was entrusted to the care of Penderson, the most responsible bachelor in town.
At first, he had taken on the duty as any good neighbor would, knowing that some day she would bring honor to their whole village as the cleric serving the great Lifegiver of Skaia, but as she neared the day when she would be sent off to inhabit the Turtle Temple once again, Penderson realized she had become more like a daughter to him than he ever thought she would. He knew, too, the exact moment it happened.
Several months after Pingas and the rest of her nestmates hatched, Penderson was on night watch. He slumbered in a cozy chair near the window, while the chicks snuggled together in a nest in the center of the room. The fireplace had made the lodge quite hot, and Penderson, preferring the cold, left the window cracked. While the wintry air was of no consequence to a thick-skinned bird such as he, something other than the breeze would come in the window that night.
Until recently, any consort could tell you that Underlings are the stuff of kids' stories. According to these same stories, they only live deep in the woods or in the darkest caves, so it's no wonder no one's ever seen them and lived to tell about it. But Penderson knows what he saw that night…
He awake with a start to see a four-legged beast, striped fur glowing in the moonlight and long tail swishing back and forth with menacing intent. It was a Liger, one of the fiercest hunters of the wilderness, or so the stories said, and it was hovering over the pile of tender little penglets. Penderson leapt up with a startled quack, sending the babies into a panicked flurry of down and straw.
It was chaos for a few heart-stopping moments, but by the time Penderson had gathered all the frightened chicks back together again, the Liger had slipped back out the window as silently as it arrived. There, among the bundle of fluffy grey feathers, was the one baby for whom Penderson was most afraid – little Pingas, his adopted daughter. He would miss her dearly when she left.
Punch Club ~ATH
[X]
tortugaTerran began pestering tuneHarmonic at 2:51 PM
TT: Uh… wow.
TT: Idk if this thing is heartwarming or traumatizing…
TT: Of course you had to pick the ONE patch of dirt with a cat buried in it…
TH: i see that
TT: Should have been able to tell from the sprig of catnip on top...
TH: not a cat person
TH: wouldn't know
TT: Well, uh...
TT: I guess I have to play the game with this horrifying, dirt-caked cat skeleton following me around.
Soupsprite: Meow...
TT: Yep, that's Soupie. Sister of Crackers.
TH: yeah you were onto something
TH: these sprites are horrible
TH: just here to haunt us
Bootsprite: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK
Soupsprite: MAOW...
TH: who let all these animals loose in our chat
~The Past~
Kato and Fred plopped Grey's limp noodle of a body against the opposite wall, where big patches of brownish-grey dust clumped onto the booze-heavy sweat on her arms and neck. Even if she got up, the booze was really setting in; she would be far too dazed to do anything. Kato wondered for a moment if they'd be better off if she got alcohol poisoning and died. He decided to turn her head to the side to at least she wouldn't choke on her own vomit if that started up.
They rejoined Kid, Ricky, and Akira on the concrete floor and helped themselves to some cans of beer, already starting to grow slick with condensation in the warm spring night. It was still cool enough to be tasty, and Kato sighed with relief after his first sip. It refreshed his parched mouth and immediately began to ease up the bruises of his first two fights. After a moment, he tuned back in to realize there was a conversation going on.
"I still can't believe you got into that fuckin' secret military school, Fred," Ricky said, shaking his head jealously. "I tried to apply for that black ops commando stuff, but they stuck me in the normal-ass Grunt Corps!"
"I can't imagine why," Fred chuckled.
"Man, shut up!" Ricky spat back. "Just cuz you got good grades and you're in some fancy Chair Force Academy, there's no way that makes you a better fighter! Let's get in the ring next! You ain't fought no one yet!"
"You literally couldn't handle me at full power," Fred said matter-of-factly.
"I'll take you on," Kato said. A silence fell.
It had been three years since Kato and Fred had graduated together. His friend seemed to be the same old jolly guy, but it also seemed like an act. The way he was fighting the previous night, Kato was sure there was more beneath the surface. He wanted to draw it out, to see just how strong his friend had really become.
"Cool," Fred said, popping quickly from the floor to his feet. He chugged the rest of his beer, crushed the can beneath his foot, and strode into the arena. It seemed he had been prepared for this very moment.
"Fight!" Ricky shouted, slamming the gate shut behind Kato. "Show this schoolboy how it's done!"
"Man, fuck the army," Kid Igijuana sighed.
Fred didn't hesitate. He rushed in at Kato with a flurry of blows. It seemed he had somehow become even faster than the night before. Kato was forced to defend. He ducked his way around the arena, sidestepping and cartwheeling to keep from getting backed into a corner. He tried to strike in the small gaps where he could, but Fred would already be coming back with his next move. The two of them bounced around, leaping off the fences, performing midair maneuvers, and trading hits in lightning-fast succession. Kato had no idea how long they remained in this intricate dance.
A few times, Kato landed a good blow on Fred, knocking him down, but before he could come in with a finishing blow, Fred would be back up in a flash, as if he had never taken the hit at all. Kato was starting to lose momentum seeing his most powerful strikes shrugged off so easily.
Finally, Fred decided it was time to finish the fight. He began to use his special technique again, propping himself on the fence and launching outwards to strike Kato with a flying punch. It was intimidating. Kato had no special move of his own to counter with. But he remained focused – he knew what he signed up for when he accepted the challenge from Fred.
Sidestepping ever so slightly, Kato got just inside Fred's punch and held his palm out, bracing his arm against Fred's shiny, clean-shaven head. The inertia went right out of him, and he dropped to a halt at Kato's feet.
"Ah, shit," Fred sighed. "I knew I was getting overzealous with that Rocket Punch."
For all the frighteningly close calls Fred had given him during the fight, Kato rewarded him with a smack across the top of his bald head.
"Alright, you win," Fred conceded, admitting his mistake. He stood up, seeming to be no more tired than when he began the fight, and stepped out of the ring. Kato, panting and sweating, stumbled over and grabbed another beer.
Tower of Derse ~ATH
[I]
After his long journey across Skaia, the Obedient Knight stood on the threshold of a great tower. Though many such ancient ruins could be found across the land, relics of a time when the Chessmen shared this planet, this one had seemingly popped up out of nowhere. Things were changing on Skaia, shifting under the influence of alien energy. The bad juju rolled out of the tower's cavernous entrance like a haunting moan.
The Knight looked behind him. Legions of Pawns would be amassing outside the tower soon, ready to assault it with every heavy weapon at their disposal. This eyesore would fall in the name of the Super King. The Obedient Knight was a cut above the rank-and-file, however. He was a one-man army, and he intended to carry out the mission his superiors had given him, backup or not. He had reached the tower long before them, and he would have to complete his mission before they completed theirs and the tower fell.
He stepped into the entrance hall, which immediately branched off into a multitude of paths that formed a dark, stone labyrinth. He took his chances on one passage, just as good as any other. He snaked his way through the corridor until he paused, listening intently to a low noise echoing through the otherwise silent castle. It sounded like dripping water, but there was something off about it. The Knight crept forward and spotted a dark puddle on the floor. Maybe it was just water after all…
The puddle began to inch toward him. Unnerved, but never off his guard, the Knight drew his sword. What good would his blade do, though, against something made of water? There was only one way to find out. He began to wave his sword about in a wild manner. Removed from the context of this sinister dungeon, it may have looked rather silly.
Not wanting to give the quivering mass too much chance to get near him, the Knight reached out in longer and longer arcs until the blade finally struck it. It was slightly more solid than it appeared, splattering when struck into smaller, spherical droplets that bounced across the stone floor before losing their rigidity and dissolving into a sticky stain. The rest of the body jiggled, the cut sealing up to re-form its main bulk into a smooth ovoid pustule once again. As it quivered in its slow but relentless approach, the Obedient Knight was reminded of the gelatin desserts of which the Super King was so fond.
A memory struck him: The Book of Underlings, a fantasy book full of monster stories to entertain the imaginations of children. Could this be the mysterious Ooze described in one of its opening pages? It had seemed a joke when he was a child, but watching such a lifeless, senseless thing move about was actually quite frightening. Enough strange things had happened already, the Obedient Knight had no trouble accepting that such conjurations were well within the powers of the mystical mother planet Skaia.
With a few more slashes, the Ooze had lost enough mass to simply bubble away, nothing remaining save for a scattering of barely-visible dark splotches in the dim corridor. Still, there was the far-off dripping sound, echoing through the halls. More of these abominations remained. Peeking down the adjoining corridors, the Knight could barely make them out, slowly closing in on him.
He could have ignored them – his goal was not their eradication, but rather an objective at the top of the tower. However, he felt this could be a good opportunity to acclimate himself to the horrors that would await him further up. If these beasts had come to life, there was no telling which of the more fearsome Underlings had, as well.
His hunt proved fruitful. After slaying several more, finally silencing the sound of their aqueous movements, he happened upon a dark dead end. Tucked neatly away in this forgotten alcove was a wooden chest, inside of which the Knight found a precious cube of Vitality Gel. These curative objects were quite prevalent in the medical centers on Prospit, but out here on the Battlefield, it was a rare resource. He tucked it into his traveler's satchel, hoping his situation wouldn't become grave enough to require it.
Punch Club ~ATH
[XI]
"Looks like it's you and me, bud," Ricky remarked to Kato, tossing aside the can of beer he had just finished. Kid Igijuana leaned against the chain-link, while his opponent Akira clambered up from the floor, blubbering excuses for his easy defeat.
Kato stood dutifully, knocking back the last dregs of his own beer, and approached the arena. "You going to show off your special move again?" he asked casually.
"You know it!" Ricky replied, beaming with pride. "It wouldn't be my Special if I didn't use it!"
"But you know you've given me the opportunity to have a perfect counter-strategy," Kato explained. "I've already beaten it once."
"Big talk for someone who doesn't have their own Special!" he cackled back.
"That's it," Kato huffed. He dropped into a ready stance and began circling Ricky, throwing punches to get him worked up. Ricky put his hands up and easily dodged them all as he began to laugh. So confident he was that Kato would not hit him that he began to wiggle and weave even more, turning his dodges into a mocking dance. Kato realized he had let Ricky get under his skin. He was being played with.
Kato threw a few more punches, slowing down with each swing to feign exhaustion. He dropped back, his hands up, and started to breathe heavily. Ricky saw his opportunity, but he wanted to relish it.
"Well, well, well," he began, smirking. "Looks like the mighty ninja champion Kato is finally getting tired! Don't think you can stop my Special so easily this time! When I unleash my Red Knuckle Rocket, you're gonna-"
He stopped short as Kato reached out and grabbed his nose.
"Ah! Whad da hell, dude?" Ricky honked. "You're nod zubbozed do addag me when I'b doig by sbeej, bro!"
"Nothing is off-limits to a ninja," Kato replied. "Especially not one in a fight club."
Ricky reached up to slap Kato's hand away, but Kato blocked with his free hand, quickly releasing Ricky's nose to give him a swift slap across the face.
Ricky stumbled back, rubbing his sore nostrils. "Alright, that's it, man!" he shouted. "This time you're really gonna get the Red-"
Kato jumped in again, this time punching Ricky in the gut.
"Bitch!" he grunted, doubling over. "Using that same cheapo tactic that you did on Billy..."
"You getting tired from all that bellowing yet?" Kato asked him.
"Wait'll I-" Ricky began, but he thought better of launching into another boast. "Red Knuckle Rocket!" he shouted, choosing instead to launch his outstretched fist into Kato's face. This was exactly what Kato hoped he would do. Kato had given Ricky a case of Special Move Blue Balls, and Ricky's eagerness and frustration had made him sloppy.
Kato countered it just as he had in the basement last night, crouching low and uppercutting into Ricky's gut as he soared past.
Ricky bounced off the chain-link and rolled into the corner like a balled-up pill bug. He promptly unfurled, turned his head, and spewed into the drain.
~The Present~
tuneHarmonic began pestering tortugaTerran at 2:57 PM
TH: so i've been shopping around the idea of getting a special move
TT: Oh worm?
TH: yeah actually that's right on
TH: i will do for fighting what the worm did for dancing
TT: lol
TH: so idk do you have any ideas?
TT: Hmm, a special move, that would be pretty fun to have.
TT: Like I could do all sorts of cool stuff with my shovel like "Trench Warfare" or "Digging for Answers"
TT: Or uh...
TT: "Ground Pound" idk
TH: yeah but i mean for ME
TT: Oh yeah. Hmm...
TT: Jeez, it seems like there should be so much you can do with a sword, but it's actually kinda generic...
TH: psh
TH: whatever
TT: No well I didn't mean it like that!
TT: What about like "Blades of Glory" or um...
TT: "Roller Blade"?
TT: Shit sorry.
TH: no it's too late
TH: you've said it and now it can't be unsaid
TH: or unseen
TH: unfortunately you're right, it's just shit
TT: Ugh well sorry to ruin it for you.
TH: no it just means i need to hunker down at the worktable and really hammer it out
TT: Well, good luck.
TT: Hope it turns out really special for you.
TH: haw haw
Tower of Derse ~ATH
[II]
The Obedient Knight mounted yet another staircase on his way to the top of the tower. From the outside, the tower had seemed impossibly tall; the Knight had estimated it was at least fifty floors. By his count, he had just arrived on the tenth. The gentle clink of armor echoed through this floor. Its mazelike halls remained the same, as did the dim lighting. The Knight began to wonder the purpose of such a convoluted structure – surely all these halls weren't simply meant to keep intruders out. What was it even protecting?
The clanking armor belonged to patrols of Dersite soldiers keeping watch in the tower. The Knight had encountered a handful of them so far; most had been alone, keeping a lazy watch over their section of the maze. Some marched up and down corridors teeming with Oozes that seemed to pay them no mind, which the Knight thought rude considering how aggressive they seemed to be toward him. Although, in the case of the oozes, aggression was very relative.
This floor, however, seemed to have an entire battalion on it. The Knight could hear their trained footsteps, their murmured conversations, their heavy equipment. He left the door hanging open, afraid to make a single sound, and began to creep along the passageway, sword drawn. In the end, it did him little good.
He rounded the corner, coming face-to-face with a pair of Dersite Pawntroopers, their uniforms a dark mirror-image of his own. Despite the glaring similarities, they were sworn enemies. Each knew what they must do. The Obedient Knight of Prospit struck first with his sword at the ready. The two black soldiers barely had time to reach for their own swords before they were cut down. Their bodies clattered to the floor in a cacophony of armor. As the ringing echo subsided, the Knight heard more footsteps rapidly approaching.
He began to move, meeting each scattered patrol in turn, cutting them down as he was so commanded. Swords clashed, but the Obedient Knight found his mark every time, making short work of the lowly footsoldiers. Their red blood splattered on the cobblestones and made the hallways reek of hot death.
It was all over in a dizzying flash, and the Knight could no longer hear anything but the sound of his own heavy breathing. He wiped his sword on a Derse-Purple banner hanging from the wall and slid it back into his scabbard. Slowly, he staggered away from the scene of the slaughter and the stink of death.
At the base of the next staircase, there was a little alcove in the stone wall. Wooden shelves lined it, and although not much was there, it seemed to be a little storage area for the soldiers who had been patrolling this level. On a broad part of the shelf at waist-level, there lay a tattered bundle of yellow cloth. The Knight, unable to stop himself, reached out his shaky hands and picked it up. The folds of cloth spilled away and revealed a dull and dented plate of rose-gold armor, which took on a burning copper hue in the torchlight. The tattered yellow cloth, bearing all the markings of a Prospitan Pawnsoldier's uniform, swayed gently below it like a haunted burial shroud in a ghost story.
The Knight looked back the way he had come, where he could still see one half-curled black hand sticking out just past the wall. Blood slowly pooled beneath the hand, filling the cracks between the cobblestones. Had this armor been taken from another fallen soldier? the Knight wondered. Did that make his retribution just? The Knight doubted that any kind of karmic balance had been achieved here. The armor, heavy to begin with, seemed to have gained some extra weight in the Knight's hands. It was not the best armor, though he thought he may need it if his own began to take too many hits. Still, he was reluctant to put it on. It positively reeked of bad vibes.
The Knight wrapped the hanging cloth around the armor plate and tucked it into his inventory before heading up the stairs.