Shop 'till you Drop ((Open))

[Breaker]

The room was filled with a dull buzzing sound.
I craned my neck, looking up at the fluorescent tube lights fixed to the steel rafters high above. They shed a harsh light into the building's interior, giving objects below a sharp look of surreality. Striding around, I felt entirely baffled.

Upon arriving at the Radasanthian Citadel, I was expecting some sort of sparring dojo. Word was, the Citadel was the place to be for honing one's combat skills. A massive building filled with robed monks and magical scenario rooms came as a bit of a surprise. The result of this was that, when the monk guiding me asked what kind of room I wanted to fight in, he caught me a little off guard. My only reason for coming to the Citadel was to hone my battle skills, while simultaneously learning more about the supernatural abilities of the people on Althanas. An earthman looking for an earnest fight, I just didn't know what to tell the monk who was so willing to help.

"That's the last time I tell a monk to surprise me." I thought. I was in a department store. It was painfully ironic, in a way. Stranded on a primitive planet, I begin to try to adjust by pursuing some of the local customs, and find myself tormented by what could easily have been any large branch of Sears or K-Mart. Walking for under five minutes, I had already passed through the clothing section, sporting goods, exterior decorating, non-perishable food products, and finally found myself at the cash register rows. Here, I found one crucial difference between this Citadel vision and a real department store; there were no doors.

With half the store still unexplored, I decided not to waste my time with cosmetics, toys, entertainment, and whatever other sections I had yet to pass through. There were sixteen cashier booths, each one with a small candy stand and glass-doored refrigerator next to it. Grabbing a chocolate bar at random, I dropped it into my shirt pocket, grinning as I imagined small children begging their parents to purchase them candy at the checkout. Cracking the fridge at Cashier 1, I pulled out a 1L glass bottle of spring water. Broke the seal, took a sip, and replaced the lid. "It's nice to experience electricity again... even if it is all a hallucination." The water was cool and refreshing. Leaning over the black rubber checkout counter, I clicked a switch and the mechanism whirred to life. I jumped atop the counter in a smooth, easy motion and began walking on the moving countertop like a treadmill. "And now, I wait." After a few moments of consideration, I realized how incredibly challenging a fight inside a department store would be. Maybe that monk was on to something.

[Death's Nephew]

To say the least, Tommy was a bit confused.

The monks had greeted him with a cheerful smile that immediately unnerved him. They rarely smiled at him; hardly even a placid look was given. Normally all he was offered was a scowl and he had to act grateful to get it.

But he never did. He just scowled back.

And this particular time, when training was a must and getting stronger for himself and his ever popular uncle, Death, was extremely important, he almost took a step back when the monk looked up at him with his big pearly whites and said, “We have just the room for you!”

He was literally pushed into the room by one incredibly strong but meek looking monk with a tattoo of an adorable bunny on his bald, shiny head. Although Tommy preferred his bunnies on a skewer with onions and potatoes, he had to admit to himself it was rather cute. Its tiny smile and one winked eye seemed to say “Don’t worry! We’ll revive your lifeless corpse! Heehee!”

Once at the door however, the bunny seemed menacing and creepy. It was as if the malicious intent of the prankster monks was emanating from the hare and its smile was more reminiscent of a wolfish grin and the wink reminded him of a sniper taking aim.

The bunny kind of scared him.

Oh relax, you’ve killed demons. It’s just a tattoo…

When he reached the door and looked behind him, the rabbit was giggling into tiny blood soaked paws. Giggling. Both eyes closed cutely in tiny pointed brackets, small driblets of ruby red blood coating the sides of its fluffy, young fur, and what looked like clumps of snow white human hair around its feet, splattered randomly with more blood.

Tommy had snow white hair.

The timid looking monk grinned happily at him. “Have a nice fight!” And using one finger shoved the fairly tall, young man through the now open door.

And here he was, hoping for a good training fight, fairly nervous from his encounter with the bunny, and lost in some aisle filled with every color of rabbits imaginable, in every shape, style, and pose. They stared at him with lifeless, shiny black eyes. Or they were staring at his hair.

He quickly left the aisle of tiny, demon mammals.

Passing by a row explaining in order what it had, he followed it and picked up an aluminum bat. It was about three feet long and had a rubber handle with a base of more metal. It was light weight and reminded the teen of when he had killed a soul that was reluctant to relinquish his baseball and bat. The ghost had promised to teach Tommy how to use the two items in conjunction and why he wanted to keep them so badly. Something about love of his life and greatest sport on realm called earth. After sending the spirit on its way with no arms, therefore negating any reason for wanting the fun toys, Tommy had practiced with them in his off time, tossing the ball in the air and swinging at it until his aim had gotten pretty decent.

Now holding a pair similar to those toys from his recent past, he wandered about the “store” decorated with an amazingly abundant amount of red circles with a large dot in them, looking a lot like a practice target, he made it to the front and saw a man a little older than himself running on some counter top.

As that guy said, Batter Up!

The man was in a blind spot to Tommy and his steps had been too silent to hear from someone running on that thing, but he was sure his opponent would notice his black leather jacket enemy after the sound of the bat “clunking” the ball.

So he stuck a tongue out to the side of his mouth for extra concentration, tossed the ball in the air, watched it carefully, smashed it with a very loud “bonk!” and it tore off in the general direction of the jogger.

[Breaker]

I had been walking for a little over ten minutes, waiting patiently for my opponent. I was more than happy with my current position. Standing on the checkout counter, I had an easy view of the most open section of the store, which would give me at least three seconds to react to anyone approaching. Walking on the moving countertop kept my blood pumping and my limbs loose. I felt prepared, powerful, and confident. My head turned from side to side at a leisurely rate, scanning the many rows of shelves and merchandise, watching for movement. Although I was content to wait, I was beginning to become bored. "The monks should really develop a system for making both competitors enter the arena at the same time," I thought. Still walking in place, I listened hard, hoping to hear footsteps, or any other sound indicative of my opponent's arrival in the store. Disappointingly, the only sound my ears could perceive was the whirring of my makeshift treadmill and the ever-present buzzing of the cheap fluorescent lights high above. Then, as I returned to my constant vigilance of the store, I heard a dull metallic ping.

Mounted on a pole above each checkout counter was a large glowing number. The one I was standing on was number 1, and about a millisecond after I dismissed the pinging sound as harmless, the glowing number 1 exploded.

It was as if some tiny incendiary charge within the plastic box had gone off, and small shards of cheap latex flew in all directions. Instincts developed through months of rigorous training kicked in, and I dropped off the checkout stand, landing in a crouch between stand 1 and 2. I stayed low with my eyes up, trying to place where the pinging sound had come from. Just as I spotted my black jacketed attacker, a baseball came to rest against my leg.

"What am I dealing with here... the little league?" Through the candy stand at checkout 1, I could see just my attacker's head and part of his torso. He had shockingly white hair, but aside from that I couldn't make out many details. Hefting the baseball in my hand, I adjusted my angle, moved a box of Oh Henry bars, and saw that he was holding an aluminum baseball bat. "What, is he joking?" While I realized that, if the baseball had hit me in the head it may have done some damage, it seemed ridiculous that my opponent could have expected to score a headshot with such an inaccurate weapon. "Is he playing head games, or just stupid?" I needed to move, change my position, and hopefully get out of sight. I wasn't sure if the white haired attacker could see me, but he certainly had to know where I was. Like a sprinter I exploded out of the checkout aisle, pitching the ball towards the snow-topped crown of my opponent's head. Probably the baseball would not find its target, but hopefully it would give him a moment's pause.

A moment was truly all I needed. Legs churning, arms pumping I made it to the nearest row of shelves and plunged into one at random. As I ran, I realized for the first time that my neck was bleeding. A piece of plastic from the destroyed check stand sign had caused a small, superficial laceration halfway between my right shoulder and ear. When I ran, my blood started pumping faster, and several drops had oozed out, dropping to the cheap tile floor. Instantly my mind kicked into high gear, figuring out how to turn the blood trail to my advantage. Even if my opponent had no skill in tracking whatsoever, he would be able to follow a path of red droplets on an otherwise off-white floor. I stopped my headlong dash at the end of a long shelf, put my hand to my neck, collected what little blood had pooled there, and wiped it on the floor. Turning, I began to climb the nearest shelf, pulling myself up hand over hand, racing against time.

The shelf was a very easy climb, and within a few seconds I was lying flat on top of it. Like a soldier in a shallow trench I dragged myself forward on my elbows through bags of cat and dog food until I had backtracked several meters. My hope was that my baseball-playing adversary would follow the blood trail, and make his way to the larger smudge at the end of the shelf. Before he got there, I would be able to drop onto him from above. Rather than make myself visible, I was content to lie flat on my front atop the shelf, once again waiting, and listening for footsteps.

[Death's Nephew]

When his ball flew back from the front of the store, he didn’t really have to move very much out of its path. However, in the two seconds he spent dodging it, he saw the tail end of his opponent dashing away into another aisle.

Somewhere behind him the ball hit a toy and it squeaked with approval.

Taking off after his quarry, he saw blood droplets dotting the floor as if the logos of the store were attempting to flash at you for the viewing pleasure of your feet. Tommy had to finish this fight soon. Between bunnies and red targets, he was becoming increasingly nervous. Which puzzled the hell out of him, since he never scared easily. Just keep calm, find that guy, and bash his head in.

The trail of dots led to the end of the aisle where it smeared for some reason around its corner. The half-specter stopped half way through the row of puppies and cats adorned on bags of food. The smell was clouding his judgment, it’s odd yet pleasing aroma making him light hearted and nauseous at once. The bits of blood had a fall pattern up until that point, which any person with half a brain could notice. The only way the smeared amount ahead of him could’ve been created would be by the small wound somehow opening further and causing a possibly fatal blood loss or it was an intentional act meant to trick him for a trap.

He took a step back.

Life in the Underworld had taught him if that something didn’t add up, triple check what you double checked. And now here, beneath the bright lights that buzzed overhead, he licked his dry lips and studied the possible avenues of attack. He was less at home here than in the safety of darkness, rendering a few of his abilities useless in this fight.

He licked his lips again. A nervous habit he did even when they weren’t dry. Tommy had thought he had grown out of that when he was a boy. Regression. Shit…

This wasn’t going to work. He had to find out where the man was hiding. Walking to the smear was like walking to your grave; it just didn’t make sense. He looked around the aisles. All styles of food lined the shelves and so did a number of fluffy and tightly woven cotton toys. If he won’t come to me…

Tommy’s left hand curled into a tight fist and ignited silently with an intense green flame. He reached for the nearest fluffy squirrel and watched as his fire spread slowly over its body at first, savoring the cotton and nylon, relishing in the fuel. He placed the squirrel back with the other cute animals in the box and watched them all get taken over by the flame’s hunger. He reached for the opposite aisle and lit a puppy with a small toy bone in its mouth on fire and placed him among the other identical puppies. In a few moments his fire would spread quickly through the two aisles and more than likely die out once the fuel was gone.

He looked up at the ceiling and bit his lower lip. Hope that doesn’t catch on fire… He thought as he back peddled slowly out of the pet food and toy section.

[Breaker]

Lying prone atop the department store shelf, the potent smell of discount, possibly expired animal feed began to overpower my senses. I had never liked the smell of cat or dog food, and now found myself surrounded by the stench of countless bags of the stuff. I could almost feel the smell absorbing into my clothing, my hair, and the very pores of my skin. As ridiculous as it was, I began to long for a shower. "This is the first time I've wanted a duel to end just so I could clean myself," I thought. In truth, I had never been particularly fond of household pets. The smell of their food was bad enough, but the pets themselves could certainly stink up a home. For an instant, my mind flickered back to a day many years ago.

I was just a child then, on my way home from school one day when a stray dog tried to bite me. Like a patchy silent film the memory reeled, parts of it had been entirely blocked out, triggered now by the smell of dog food. A flicker, and I remembered wrapping my bony child's arms around the dog's neck, strangling it, and then nothing. My mind was blank. For some reason, I wanted to remember, and became so focused on retrieving the horrendous memory that I failed to notice the approaching footsteps of my opponent meters below. I closed my eyes and delved back to when I was eight years old... "I remember the smell of dog food on the mutt's breath as I choked it to death... and later... the smell of burning fur... burning..."

Suddenly, the burning was all too real. The shelf beneath me had become uncomfortably warm, and toxic black smoke billowed from lower levels like an evil spirit from my abusive past. Shaking myself mentally, I shed the horrific scenario from my youth and focused on the present. I rolled onto my side and peeked over the edge. The lower levels of both the shelf I was on and the one opposite it were on fire, and the blaze was spreading fast. Then I saw my opponent, clearly he had started the fire and was hoping for it to smoke me out. I began to rise to my knees, ready to jump onto the white haired man from above, when a bag of cat food next to me burst into flame. With a cry of alarm, I rolled away. "Damn, so much for the element of surprise." I knew I had to get off the shelf before I too was consumed by the voracious flames. Kicking out with both legs, I sent several bags of food, some afire, others not, tumbling in my adversary's general direction. Satisfied with this distraction, I rolled away from him and dropped to the tile floor below.

I landed lightly on the balls of my feet, bending my knees and spine to cushion the impact. Despite this, I felt a painful jarring in my shin bones. Impulsively, I pivoted in a half circle and slammed the shelf with a spin back sidekick. The shelf wobbled slightly, and I left a large dent in the support where my foot made contact, but otherwise nothing happened. "So much for that idea." In my mind, I had seen the metal construction tumbling to the floor with a great boom, cascading flaming bags of food, and crushing my opponent to death. In reality, the shelf was made of powerful alloy and was bolted soundly to the floor. Deciding to distance myself from the fire, I began running towards a large sign which read "Kitchen Appliances". As I arrived in the section filled with shiny white and silver machines, I got the shower I had been longing for.

The smoke from Tommy's fire had reached the store's detectors, and accompanied by a shrill alarm, frigid water began to spray downwards. I stopped running for fear of slipping on the slick wet tile, and instead turned to face the direction I had come from. I was standing on the edge of a large open area filled with rows of dishwashers. Up until that point, I had been running from my opponent, trying to ambush him for a quick kill. Quite suddenly, I decided to change gears. "If he's expecting me to be hiding, he'll get a surprise. There's always room for the unexpected in a duel like this." Grabbing a box with a picture of a knife block from a nearby shelf, I moved to the middle of the dishwasher section. I picked a stainless steel dish duster with lots of fancy dials, and boosted myself on top of it. As my clothing became fully drenched, I tore the box of knives open, and set it on a white chrome dishwasher adjacent to the one I was perched on. My utility belt has a sheath designed for a combat dagger, and the box's fourteen inch wide-bladed chopping knife fit quite nicely into it. I was content to leave the rest of the blades in their block, sitting close to hand. I sat there, water drenching my hair and running down my face, and abruptly the fire alarm shut off. It left a strange vacuum behind; the only sound keeping me company at that point was the gentle sprinkling of water upon metal appliances. I raised my feet until my legs were sticking straight out, then brought them crashing into the side of the dishwasher

BOOM!

The noise echoed throughout the store, contrasting harshly with the gentle fall of artificial rain. I repeated the action, again and again, letting the snowy haired man know where I was. Tiny water droplets massaged my scalp, helping me think. It was time for the prey to come to me.

[Death's Nephew]

The emerald flames tore through the shelves faster than he anticipated, forcing him out the way he came in a hurry. A large bang made him flinch for a second, ducking behind a display of Double Stuff Oreos. The sale proclaimed two for $4.00 was a bargain. Tommy wasn’t sure what $4.00 was in terms of gold coins. Kneeling, tearing open package and chewing on the chocolate and cream cookie, he watched carefully for any movement.

Suddenly water shot out from everywhere, spraying him and his cookies with unrelenting force. He moved from the cookies, promising himself later to return for more, and almost tripped on something in his way. It squeaked angrily and the teen stared at it with slight surprise.

A red bunny with a tiny carrot in its hand gazed at him with lifeless eyes in the middle of the walkway. His lips felt dry again even though he was soaked.

Rearing his right foot back, he punted the hare ahead of him, sending it sailing into an area marked “Pharmacy”.

His steel dagger suddenly cried out to him, impatient with his dawdling. I really have to figure out what the hell that is… Tommy thought with a bit of worry. As far as he knew, the dagger had belong to the mother he never knew and for some reason, it had a larger bloodlust than a crazed murderer. Stepping lightly around an aisle, he made sure to avoid the puddles forming all over the store. The droplets that fell more slowly than its initial blast formed ripples all around him in the tiny liquid mirrors. He saw his face in one and saw it shatter a hundred different times. Too often he felt an unworthy heir to the seat his uncle held. He knew his time to rule was possibly eons away or it could be within the next year. But as he slowly stepped forward, leather jacket squeaking softly, he licked his lips anyway.

A crashing sound caught his attention, it’s repeated boom echoing loudly through the deserted store. He moved with a little more energy, curious as to what was making the racket. Squeaking more quickly now, he held a dagger in each hand, wondering if this could be another trap. As he rounded a corner a little to quickly, he saw his quarry had caught him hook, line, and sinker.

Ahhh crap…

[Breaker]

Boom!... Boom!... Boom! Boom!... Boom!

I was the thunder in the store's sprinkler storm. Like a statue I sat, pounding rhythmically, sending my message across the store. "Come to me, sorcerer. Let's finish this." I was angry with my white haired foe. Inexplicably, but there you are. The battle ground which the Citadel monk had chosen for me served as a painful reminder of all the things I had left behind on Earth. That alone had started me down a slippery slope, which worsened when the flashback from my childhood hit. Subconsciously I gripped the edge of the dishwasher, and my feet pounded harder on its side. I did not like any of the memories from that stage of my life. Suppressing the train of thought which threatened to travel to my past, I found myself growling audibly as I pounded the dishwasher harder and harder. I needed an outlet for my aggression, something to help me exorcize the anger. Just then, Tommy slid around a shelf, looking surprised to see me. Raising my hands, I snatched two knives at random from the block before me. It was killing time.

BOOM!

With one final crack of thunder, I left the dented dishwasher behind, striding through growing puddles towards my adversary. He carried two daggers, weapons which would be far superior to my nine inch boning knife and eight inch steak knife. I knew he had the weapon advantage, but didn't care. I had training, and a whole lot of rage. Tommy's appearance in the kitchen appliances section had caused a rush of adrenaline, which I now felt energizing my body. The sensation of absolute control and power spread from my head to my fingers curled tightly around the plastic hilts of my blades, down to my toes, warming them against my drenched shoes and socks. I weaved in and out of the dishwashers, keeping my focus on the white haired man the entire time. At last, I cleared the rows of product, and nothing but ten feet of wet tiles stood between me and my target.

I carried the shorter knife inverted, its blade pointed at the floor, with the longer one clenched like a sword, the tip aimed at Tommy's heart. I closed the distance quickly, five steps away, then four, then three. My hands came up like a boxer with knives, and two steps away, I exploded. Powering forwards, I shot out a quick straight stab with my shorter knife, an ice picking motion which would have been a backhand punch without the blade. I was not wasting energy; the stab was aimed at his heart. In a swift follow up I slashed out with my longer knife, slicing horizontally at his white crested forehead. It was an irregular attack, one which would pour blood into his eyes if it landed. Drawing back a half pace, I bobbed on the spot, my world consumed by my own body, my opponent's, and our weapons.

[Death's Nephew]

The double slice almost killed Tommy. Fortunately, or unfortunately, as he saw the attack coming, his momentum from rounding the corner prevented him from locking up with tension and sudden fear from the explosive assault. As he tried to grind his left foot into the ground, it hit a puddle, which didn’t like a boot being stomped into its rippled face and promptly threw him out. As he fell, he was lifting his right arm to try and meet the attack aimed for him heart, dagger to knife. It worked, sort of. The two blades met with a sharp metallic cling and the knife slid off the blade quickly, its point traveling across the flat surface of plynt. It fell off and hit him in the shoulder, not very deep, but enough to draw blood and cause him a great deal more pain than just the falling part would’ve done. The second slash ate plenty of air and probably water that still fell slowly from above.

As he continued his ever graceful trip, he slammed hard on his back, sliding on the slick surface a few aisles away from the resourceful young man. Blood trailed behind him and he got up quickly, sheathing his steel dagger and pressing on his wound. It was none too happy about that. It growled from its cage of leather, but Tommy ignored the threat. He was in charge, not the blade. Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll let you be the killing blow.

“Maybe if you’re nice I won’t let the scaaaary rabbits eat you.”

What???

The blade fell silent. Tommy was beginning to hate whatever lived in its steel prison.

He leaned against the scented candles and looked around the aisle. Air fresheners and scented everything. Useless. He went down the to the other end and quickly darted to a big sign saying “Electronics”. By the time he reached the area, the water had died down, leaving the place silent once more. He had to figure out what he could use to his advantage. Rows of “video games” and “DVDs” surrounded the confused teen and helped none too much with the whole “regroup and plan” theory. Fearing he was too out in the open, he kneeled behind a large display case showing off “Earnest Goes to Camp”, “Too Fast, Too Furious”, and “The Lion King 2; Simba’s Pride”, along with various other DVDs strewn about loosely in the steel wired bin. The sign boasted that you could get three of them for $9.99. Wonder what that means…

Looking to his left, he saw rows of toys and garden equipment, along with something called Automotive. His right sported a clothing apparel area for men, women, boys, and girls. Neither side looked to helpful at the moment and time was running short. The silent pools of water stared up at him in wonder, their cheap linoleum patterned bottoms staunch, equally curious.

His left fist ignited silently in its green flame. He had to use range a bit more. This guy seemed to have the edge in close fighting. As if to remind him, the wound ached on queue. Resisting the urge to lick his lips, his eyes narrowed on the lights around him.

Yes!

He needed something to take out the lights. But what? They were pretty high up and he would need lots of projectiles to accomplish this goal. A bow maybe? Could be lots of crossbows somewhere. Would it be considered a sport? He knew archery was competition back home, so why not here? He took off to the left, leaving the DVDs to their lonely selves. In a few moments he had found something better than balls, arrows, or heavy rocks and let the fire die down from his twitching fingers.

Rifles sat silently in glass shelves, waiting to be picked up. He however, was a horrid shot with these weapons. Having taken one from a hunter who had been killed in a bear and tiger attack, at the same time (go figure), he tried it out and soon found it wasn’t for him. He couldn’t hit a moving target if he had magic bullets. But the lights didn’t move, they just hummed and hindered his abilities. His wound ached again when he reached for the lock on the glass case and he grimaced, looking at the blood flow slowly from his jacket. He had to be quick.

Unable to unlock it, he took the back of his dagger and smashed the barrier. No sounds or alarms followed. But he was sure the agile psycho chef had heard him and brought down a gun with a strap on its underbelly. Reading the Browning A-Bolt label, he looked at the loads of ammunition with nervous haste and shaky hands. Eventually he found the matching bullets after turning over half a dozen wrong, and pretty heavy for their sizes, boxes.

Taking the box and slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he moved again, looking for a place to snipe the lights from quickly enough to create enough darkness to turn the tide of this immensely weird battle.

[Breaker]

Blood sprayed, rewarding my primary thrust. Upon seeing the crimson liquid I felt a massive adrenaline rush, and moved in for the kill. In my hands, ordinary kitchen cutlery had become tools of death. I lunged forward, my weapons eager to open his throat, to spill his blood to the already trenched floor tiles thus claiming my victory. But then...

"He's gone!"
My surprise lasted only a moment, but it was enough time for the white haired man to slide across the floor. He came to rest several aisles away, leapt to his feet and took off. I heard his wet footsteps slapping helter-skelter along the aisle for awhile, and then there was silence.

Turning to follow, I suppressed the feeling of disappointment which threatened to consume me. "Focus on the endgame," I told myself, "He's wounded and running; you've got the advantage, so use it! Don't stand around moping like a bipolar teenager!" I followed the sorcerer stealthily, shoving all thoughts of regret into a corner of my mind, where I locked them in a box. Then tossed the box in a trash compactor and set the whole thing on fire, for good measure. My mind blessedly clear, I studied a blood smear on the ground. Every few feet there were a few droplets of crimson, heavily diluted by the thin sheet of water which covered the floor. The color had lightened until it looked light pink, matching the Barbie section two aisles to my left. Ignoring the un-atomically correct dolls, I realized that the blood trail had ended. "Either the wound wasn't very deep, or he's managed to bind it." Secretly, I hoped for the latter. I knew that if the cut was deep enough that it needed immediate attention, my opponent would be focused on himself rather than me. Abandoning useless attempts at tracking the wizard, I began a methodical search of the aisles.

"No one in electronics."
The cardboard boxes containing various console systems and computer games sagged depressingly, colors running, the contents undoubtedly ruined. I moved onto the next aisle.
"Toy section... empty."
I nearly chuckled at the sight of waterlogged stuffed animals wedged together by their increased weight. It looked like a mass grave for fake animals. I was beginning to feel a bit awkward carrying two knives around with me, so I tossed the bloodstained one away. It arced softly into the bin full of furries, nestling itself between a brown grinning teddy and a pink prancing unicorn. Carrying only a small steak knife now, I moved on to the sports section.

"Hmm... he's not here."
Considering my opponent's previous antics with the baseball, I had half expected to find him there. The aisle was packed with glistening bicycles, soaking soccer balls and saturated sudoku books. "Wait, that's not right..." It was as if a careless customer had dropped the booklet of math puzzles in the wrong section, expecting an employee to clean up after them. "The monks really went all out in making this store realistic..." My complimentary thoughts towards the Citadel's keepers were interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. I froze, then whipped my head back and forth, trying to estimate where the noise had come from. I gauged it at being one or two aisles over. Breathing silently and suppressing the urge to run flat out, I crept to the end of the sports aisle and peeked around the corner.

"Nothing. Damn..."
This aisle was as empty as the last. It displayed gear for outdoor sports; hunting camouflage, hip waders, fishing rods, and a surprisingly wide array of animal call devices. Everything in sight was dripping wet, including the hip waders, which seemed to be overflowing. Preparing myself for the worst, I took two steps and peeked around to the next aisle over.

My opponent was nowhere to be seen, but evidence of his presence was everywhere. Broken glass littered the sopping floor, above a recently raided rifle case. My blood ran cold at the thought of my enemy toting a firearm. His injury would lend me no advantage if he could snipe me out from a hundred yards. I moved to the case and searched it. Many rifles remained inside, but most of the ammunition was gone. "Bastard," I thought, then, "But wait... maybe..." I felt excitement well within me as I crouched, looking below the vandalized rifle case. My heart raced as my face lit up in a huge grin at what I saw.

Where Tommy had lacked finesse, I did not. Placing the tip of the steak knife neatly in the case's keyhole, I struck it firmly with the heel of my palm. The knife blade broke from the impact, but so did the lock, and the case full of treasures opened to my waiting hands.

Inside was a small selection of handguns. I wanted to stay there and examine them, but knew I had to move quickly. Without hesitation I selected a Glock 17 and a small box of 9mm parabellum ammunition. With sure hands I opened the box and loaded seventeen shells into the Glock's magazine. Snapping the magazine into place produced a sound I knew well, and loved. I had passed many certification tests with a Glock 17, and used one in real combat on numerous occasions. It was the preferred standard issue weapon of the UCA, the agency which I had worked here before a mission stranded me on Althanas. I held the weapon by its grip and pulled the slide, loading my first shell into the gun barrel. It was like shaking hands with an old friend. Immediately, my confidence was back. Again, I had an advantage on my opponent. I knew he was armed, but he did not know I was. Also, although a rifle is a superior weapon for long distance gunfights, in a closed environment like this department store, the handgun ruled. I had seventeen shots to finish my opponent. "But... I will probably only need one."

The Glock 17's safety mechanism is a small trigger atop the actual trigger. The smaller trigger needs to be fully depressed before the second trigger can be pulled, to avoid accidents. I carefully activated the small trigger, leaving myself a finger twitch away from firing the weapon, and moved to the end of the aisle. I crouched down so as not to present a target at head height, then leaned out into the open.

[Death's Nephew]

The only thing louder than the sound of the steady dripping of water, as it tumbled over the edges of the seemingly endless shelves that surrounded him, was his rapidly beating heart. He took deep breaths, inhaling through the nose and exhaling through the mouth, doing his best to keep a steady pace as a sense of urgency overtook his consciousness.

“Run, boy! Hahaha! Run for your worthless life!”

He grabbed the dagger from its sheath as he rounded a corner and held it tightly. The voice had returned only to taunt him and Tommy was ready to respond. Looking around the Furniture section he had entered, his eyes caught a perfect bin to ditch the annoying blade. You can kiss my ass for the rest of this fight. I’ll deal with you later.

Before it could reply, he tossed it under into a mound of comforters and pillows. The tiny poof the dagger made as it bounced in between cushions brought a slight smile to the half-specter’s face before he remembered his mission. His dark eyes darted around the surrounding space, rejecting the couches, chairs, and twin beds that lined the area. He needed a space to give him the best cover and a hunk of wood covered in goose down wasn’t going to cut it. He was about to leave when something small and brown caught his attention briefly. It was sitting on a black, leather armchair, arms spread wide and a bucktoothed grin to greet the young fighter.

Tommy’s plynt dagger cut right through its neck with the slightest effort. He was going to have a word with the Citadel monks about harassment when this was all over.

The tiny head rolled to the floor, dead eyes watching the back of his legs disappear into the next aisle. He knew his opponent had heard the glass and probably had acquired a new weapon of his own, but Tommy was sure that his aim was far superior to the specter’s. His wandering and contemplating had brought him to the Home Office area, littered with high, shelved desks, potted plants, and large steel file cabinets. Quickly pushing one five foot cabinet perpendicular to another and nudging a nearby six foot high desk to act as a backing, he slammed the ammunition on the cheaply made oak top and started loading the rifle as quickly as his inexperienced hands would allow.

Resting the fully loaded rifle on his shoulder and crouching behind the make-shift barricade, he knelt down into the wet carpeted area that did little to emphasize how great this would all look in your own place of residence. It was after all, soaking wet. The squish did little to ease his mind, since he felt every time he blinked he was giving away his position, but from this point, he would be able to blackout at least a third of the store with ease. Darkness would consume all of this and it would become his territory. Then he’d show that damn dagger and those bastard bunnies who was in charge.

He pulled the trigger with the utmost confidence as he eyed the unsuspecting humming tube of light in the ceiling. He was rewarded with a disappointing “click”. This was bad news, since he had just placed all his eggs in one very small basket. If he tried to escape from his small fortress, he’d barely get out in time to be shot in the back with whatever the other guy had on him. His whole idea had been to win the battle psychologically first by blacking the place out and letting the darkness overwhelm his target.

Nevertheless, he tried to push the desk back, but it was proving difficult with such little ground to start with; plus the squishy carpet wasn’t allowing a sliding action. The items around his person had begun to sink into the wet ground. And yet he still heaved with all his might, hoping against hope he wasn’t too late.

[Breaker]

I saw nothing. Nothing out of place, anyhow.
Water dripped in some places, and flowed in others, where it had managed to form pools atop the slick steel shelves. I looked past a display of outdoor picnic furniture (the umbrella had collapsed with water weight; clearly it was more intended to offer shelter from the sun). I looked down the aisle in the path my adversary had undoubtedly taken. At the end of the long, clear section of tiles was a section labeled "Home Office," complete with waterlogged desks, mud-filled potted plants, and saturated swivel chairs. Seeing this, I pulled my head back into the gun aisle, closed my eyes, and thought like my opponent.

"He has a rifle..." I told myself, "He took a rifle when he could have taken a handgun. That could mean he only knows how to use long guns, but more than likely it means he's going to try to kill me from a distance. The Home Office section would be a perfect place to set up; he could crouch behind a desk with his rifle rested on it, and I'd never see him from a distance. Or, he could go prone UNDER a desk, cut a hole to look through and drop me at a hundred paces." I turned the scenario my mind had built around over and over, examining it from every angle. The best approach I could think of was to sneak towards the Home Office section along the store's wall, try to get behind the rifle, and kill him from there. With one last glance out into the tile pathway, I moved to the opposite end of the gun aisle, went prone next to the store's wall, and began crawling towards where I guessed my opponent would be.

As wet as I already was, crawling through the millimeters of water which covered the floor was not enjoyable. My clothes, which had started to dry somewhat, quickly became saggy and sticky the liquid. Despite this unpleasantness, the water reduced my body's friction, making it easier to crawl along like a soldier through mud. I propelled myself silently with my elbows, knees and feet, keeping my gun hand up, and my new weapon dry. The Glock 17 would fire wet, but I saw no reason to risk damaging it, or having the black metal clang off the tile floor. I moved patiently but quickly, not wanting to make my opponent wait too long. "Unless he's an experienced sniper, he'll probably change his location before long," I thought, then realized; "Although, if he was an experienced sniper, I' probably already be dead."

It was two, maybe three minutes at most before I reached the corner of the department store building. One wall met another, and there I rose into a crouched position, gun up, ready. I carried the Glock in my right hand, arm straight, finger on the trigger with my left hand underneath, supporting. Taking the weight of the weapon in my left allowed my right hand freedom to aim properly, and manage the recoil.

I scanned the selection of Home Office materials, and quickly noticed a small fort made from several desks shoved together. I suppressed a grin. It looked like something a child would make, given free reign in Sears or K-Mart. However, as I moved forward stealthily, I saw that no child had arranged the fortress, but rather a white haired, gun-toting wizard. I moved until I was a mere ten yards away, crouched behind a well-stained brown desk. It was slick with water, but provided a place for me to rest my gun while shooting. At that range, I couldn't miss if I tried; my hands, trained for years, automatically pointed the Glock's barrel at my opponent's back. With a nearly sickening sense of victory, I depressed the safety trigger, then, without hesitation, pulled the second.

"Click."

The hollow noise seemed to echo in the silent store. Confused, I pulled the trigger twice more, but it was no use. The gun was not functional. Angry, I tossed the gun away. My opponent would have heard the clicks, without a doubt, and any moment he would turn around and see me. Enraged and lacking a backup plan, I crouched briefly then lifted a heavy potted plant. My muscles bulged as I hefted the heavy fern over my head. Mud oozed out the bottom, sliding down my arms. I stepped forward and heaved the plant with all my might. It weighed at least thirty pounds, and was tumbling through the air on a beeline with my opponent's torso.

[Death's Nephew]

The sound of a click behind him echoed throughout the store as if it were a long abandoned tomb. Knowing his enemy had almost won because of his idiocy in using the rifle well, he re-doubled his efforts and continued to shove the steel framed filing cabinet in front of him. Turning to look back would serve little or no purpose. The young fighter would be soon improvising to attack the sitting, white haired duck.

Almost giving himself a hernia, he toppled the worthless barricade over, falling over from his own momentum. At the same moment, something in the air current told him he was in trouble. By the time he landed on his chest on the side of the cabinet, he saw the shadow of something large and round zip through the air. Instinctively, he rolled to the right, but wasn’t fast enough to dodge it entirely. The clay pot exploded on his left shoulder blade, forcing a cry of pain out of his lips. As he rolled into an office chair, he scrambled to his feet and felt his left arm and hand growing number by the passing second. The pain in his upper back however, was spreading like wildfire. Knowing he had a minute at best to use his left arm for this fight, he sent his fist aflame one last time and ground his teeth together as if he were trying to crush coffee beans. Left fist curled tightly, he roared with pain as he brought it up punched the air three times in quick succession, forming a slightly lopsided triangle of emerald fireballs that rocketed towards his opponent. On the third punch, he heard something snap in his back and the entire arm went limp, useless at his side.

He never waited to see what happened to the man, but he didn’t care. He only had one good arm and it wasn’t strong enough to wield his Hexfire bastard sword efficiently or even half-assed. He was running out of options fast. Blood slowly started trickling out of the back of his leather jacket, leaving a tiny trail of his futile attempt at regrouping his thoughts. The rows of items blurred to nothing, mere hazes in his peripherals and barely identifiable when right in front of him. It wasn’t until a familiar squeak beneath his damp, bloody boot protested his weight that he began to realize where he had wandered. Breathing quickly and shallowly, with sweat falling down his chin and blood slowly trickling out of his mouth from the internal damage of the clay collision, he blinked his eyes in pain and almost laughed in hopelessness.

He was back in the aisle he first started on.

In the center sat a small gray rabbit, holding his steel dagger he had discarded earlier. A menacing grin spread on its adorable face gazed up at Tommy, chilling his blood. Angry, beaten, and on the verge of passing out, he summoned up all his will power and ran up to the hare and stomped it with his boot, smashing fluff and cotton into the mix of water and blood that surrounded them. Breathing as if he had just run a mile non-stop, he bent down slowly and picked up the dagger. He could almost feel it laughing at him, but he heard nothing audible, in his ears or his head.

He knew his irrational fear of small fluffy animals was pathetic, but it felt like something from his past was being represented in them. As humiliation and rage boiled within his conscious, he gripped the blade until his knuckles turned white, shaking with fury. He was the nephew of a very feared entity and he was scared of a bunny?! Energy crackled around the blade’s edges, sharp, green arcs of lightning twisting in quick strikes at the air around it. The shelves around the teen creaked and moaned in pain, the bolts holding them in place shooting out of their sockets and hovering around his person as if in orbit. When he saw this, his rage was replaced with confusion and everything stopped. The bolts clattered noisily to the wet floor and the dagger kept silent. What in the hell was that…?

“A glimpse of the power you have…”

Before he could answer back, his legs gave out and he slammed onto his aching knees. With a soft grunt, he coughed up more of his life force and the weapon clattered to the floor ahead of him, blurred by sweat, water, and blood. The never ending taste of copper drowned his tongue, adding to his impending sense of death. The slowly growing creaks from the metal shelves that now had rabbits raiding the aisle were tilted dangerously towards him, ready to topple the specter along with the creepy critters.

As a bunny suddenly smoothly sat up, stretched its legs like a jogger in the brisk morning hour, and regarded Tommy as if he were a delicious carrot, he knew the battle was over. His fear had beaten him. The sense to become stronger was nothing but an illusion from a scared boy in a new place. He licked his lips, coating them with a thin veil of blood instead of saliva.

And without warning, all the rabbits attacked.

[Breaker]

Mud splattered everywhere as the potted fern struck its mark, giving the immediate vicinity a likeness to an unpopulated pigsty. Identical mud decorated my forearms where it had oozed from the holed pot. Already this mud was beginning to dry a dark, earthen brown, solidifying and making my arms itch. Irritably, I began scratching it off, yet again feeling the need to cleanse myself. Suddenly, fireballs appeared in the air, arcing up then down towards me like three flame forged falcons.

I shouted a curse, throwing myself beneath a nearby desk. My opponent had looked down for the count; obviously though, he was still up and active. I had wedged myself into the footrest section of the desk, crammed between two sets of drawers with water bubbling out of the carpet below like a compressed sponge. With the crack of splitting hardwood, the first fireball broke through, cleaving a hole in the desk before missing my left thigh by inches, then fizzling into nothing against the wet carpet. At once, I decided that I had picked a bad hiding spot. Curling my arms and legs in, I rolled like a barrel, hearing the second ball of fire meet the same end as its predecessor. I kept rolling, turning once, twice before-- pain.

The last fireball stuck me on the back, directly over my right shoulder blade. My body spasmed and my back arched, wrenching my chest up off the sodden floor. My eyes were open wide, staring blindly at the wall as my mouth mimicked them in a silent scream. There was pain; burning, flesh melting pain as I felt the fireball sear through layer after layer of skin. Finally, after two seconds of pure agony, my inherent training took over and I did the only sensible thing; rolled over. As soon as my back hit the waterlogged rugging, the burning ceased. There was still pain; the angry burned flesh on my back seemed to crawl with it. I could control this, however, and used my left arm to push myself to my feet.

I examined the area. Again, my adversary had fled, this time leaving no trail for me to follow. I checked my right arm. It was still fully functional, but moving it caused white hot spasms to run up and down my burned back. Allowing the arm to hang limp, I walked to an undisturbed potted plant and grabbed a handful of soil. It felt cool and fresh; the way high quality indoor soil does after a watering. Cautiously, I slapped the saturated soil onto my tender shoulder blade, and sighed with relief. It helped immensely, and I found that I could swing my arm normally with only small twinges of heat erupting over the burn. Moving quietly, I began walking towards a distant sign which said "Pharmacy."

I didn't see my opponent, and did not care to look for him. For all I cared, the white haired wizard could stay away from me forever. The burn I had received, cooled as it was by the salve of mud, had sapped all my inspiration for continuing the fight. As I walked I tried to keep my on the present situation, but found it sliding time after time into the abyss that was my childhood. I hated burns. They brought back memories of the tiny round charred black dots, cigarette burns, and the larger ones made by the occasional cigar. I looked at my arms. Those scars had long since faded, but the memory remained of a drunken father, pissed out of his mind, wielding smokes as a method of sadism because he couldn't see straight enough to aim a punch. My shoulder throbbed, and I realized I had both fists clenched in anger, tightening the sinewy muscles that ran from my wrists up to my chest and back. I relaxed, taking long slow breathes, hypnotically linking my breathing pattern to my slow, quiet steps.

"You're beyond this... you've grown up beyond your childhood, and beyond him." These days, extinguishing a cigarette on my bare flesh would barely give me pause. "That fireball, on the other hand..." I stopped. I had arrived in the pharmacy, and something was out of place. Very out of place, in fact. A monk in a long orange-brown robe stood examining the store's selection of burn salves. I moved toward him, catching his attention, and he smiled.

"Looking for one of these?" He gestured towards the burn remedies. "They will not heal your wounds."

I stared at the monk for a moment, examining him and his words. Water dripped from the shelf above, puddling in his hair. He ignored it, though. Steadfastly. I felt some respect for the monk, but my temper was short.

"No, actually I think a burn ointment would make this burn on my back feel a lot better, thanks for your concern."

The monk's smile broadened, like he had predicted my angry response.

"I am speaking of the wounds inside you, the wound which--"

"Don't pretend to understand me!" I interrupted, "Don't play your damn head games, I won't have it. I come from a different world, a different planet! Can you even comprehend the magnitude of that?" I panted slightly. I felt better, oddly enough, after yelling. "Expressing emotions can be therapeutic." I reminded myself.

The monk was no longer smiling. Just looking at me, waiting. I took a deep breath, then another.

"Heal me of my wounds, if the battle is over. I want no more of this place today. Take me h--" I swallowed the word. I had almost said "Take me home." True enough, Althanas had grown on me. But it could never be... the same.

"Very well." The monk replied, a twinkle in his eyes. "Take my hand and we shall return to the Citadel. When you awaken, your wounds will be healed." I hesitated only briefly before gripping his smooth hand in a slightly awkward handshake. I was a head taller than the monk, and my palm dwarfed his, not only in size but power. Where my hands were hard, muscular and calloused, his were slim and soft. The hands of one who did many things by magic. It took a moment for me to realize how engrossed I was in the handshake, and suddenly I knew why. I could feel an... Energy flowing through the point of contact. "Some sort of magic, it must be." The energy flow reminded me of a morphine intravenous, for a pleasant, comforting feeling had crept from the fingers of my hand all across my body. The pain in my back seemed to evaporate and fly away, leaving me floating pleasantly in between burn ointment and insect repellent...

I blinked my eyes quickly, fighting to stay awake. The monk had been answering my questions, with real answers. Normally, speaking to a monk was more like opening a fortune cookie. What they said generally made sense, but you couldn't tell what it applied to. Desperately battling the dreamy emptying of my mind, I spoke, managing nothing more than a loud whisper.

"Is the battle over then? Did I win?"
"This battle is over, yes. The winner... remains to be decided. Although we keep no record of such things." His tone was almost patronizing as he watched my consciousness falter. I kept fighting.
"Why did you tease me with this arena, a reflection of my home? How can I..."

The monk released my hand, and I fell backwards, seemingly forever, as if the hard tile floor had disappeared. I realized a moment later that it had, along with the rest of the store. My vision was whited out, or else my eyes were closed. I couldn't tell. From somewhere far, far away I thought I heard the monk's voice, carried on the winds of change.

"Sleep now, rest and be well. The Citadel is not the place for you at this time... Find yourself. Travel to the Dajas Pagoda, in Scara Brae."

It was with those strange instructions floating through my mind like fireflies that at last, I fell asleep.

[Death's Nephew]

“GET OFF OF ME!!!” Tommy screamed as he exploded out of a firm, blanket-less bed. The sunlight poured in through the window, contrasting his sudden outburst immensely. A soft chirping outside brought him back from the nightmare hares and he stood up off the cold, stone ground.

“Good to see you awake. Your opponent has already left for another destination, so pleasantries are not an option.” A monk, who suddenly appeared behind Tommy, said with a cheerful smile.

No rabbit of doom adorned his forehead.

“Uh, yea. Ok.” Was all he could really say as he stumbled out of the room, leaving the sunlight and specs of dust that floated serenely in its gaze in front of the statue-still man. He was still in a bit of a daze after the whole ordeal. Rabbits, knives, potted plants…it was a bit much for one battle. But he could see that the monks were trying to help him, not torture his already dark soul. They had identified his fear and made the effort to force Tommy to face it. Whether he had succeeded would be for his next actions on Althanas to determine. He was however, somewhat grateful.

Flexing his muscles and cracking his neck as he walked down the hall towards the center of the Citadel, he thought back on his opponent. His innate ability to judge a person’s soul had never triggered on the bad scale. Although calculated and cunning, evil didn’t seem to reside in the man’s heart.

“See ya, assholes.” He said with a curt wave to the monks at the front desk as he strolled in the direction of the exit. He never did show gratitude very well.



OOC: Thanks for the battle man! Good stuff!

[Letho]

General Notes: I’m going to go ahead and say that this was one of the best battles I read in a long while. A lot of people are victims to the archetype of the battle (especially in the Citadel), where they walk into the arena, do their introductions and then exchange blows until one or both are dead. Setting takes the backseat in such instances, as do tactics and even character, and you basically get a turn based battle. Fortunately, that didn’t happen here. On the contrary, at times I thought you even focused too much on those things. Still, it was a very interesting battle to read. It managed to make me smile quite a few times, and that’s always good.

But yeah, onto the rubric. The Numbers Guy’s score is BLUE and the Death’s Nephew’s is RED.


CONTINUITY – 6:7

To be perfectly honest, I think that this battle started with the usual ‘here to improve my skills’ justification, but then later on you both decided to salvage as much as possible and give it a deeper meaning. How else to explain the fact that for the majority of the battle you basically just fought each other (though not an all-out battle), and then at the end there are these surprising revelations of both characters? By this, I mean Tommy’s fear of the bunnies and Joshua’s wound on the inside that the monk revealed. Yes, Tommy obsession with bunnies was present throughout the entire battle, but it was never properly justified, while Joshua’s unfortunate childhood just sort of jumped at me at the end, with no real reason why was it revealed right then and there. Perhaps you both did want to do more with this from the beginning, but it didn’t show in your earlier posts. I’m giving DN a small advantage here because his bunnyphobia was present from the beginning to the end and he was forced to face it at the end.

SETTING – 8:8

I’ll be brief here because I honestly don’t have much to comment on. As you can see from the numbers, you’ve both been great when it comes to the setting. Not only was it utilized repeatedly by your characters, but its usage made a lot of sense in this store war you two had. However, my two objections go to the following. One, there were some minor details I didn’t find very believable. Like the positioning of the items on sale, for example. At the beginning of the battle, while Joshua is laying atop of some dog food, why would there be plushies and toys on the same shelf as the animal food? I don’t know much about stores other from what I see when I go to buy some, but I seldom see toys and dog food in the same isle. The other thing because I didn’t go higher with the score here is because of the modern setting. While nicely depicted, it’s something that’s easier to write about then a regular medieval setting because it’s something we meet in everyday life. Because of that, it takes just a little less effort to make it work for you.

Damn, I guess I wasn’t so brief after all.

PACING – 6,5:6

This is one of the segments I wasn’t very fond of. And I’m not talking about pussyfooting here. That’s a perfectly understandable and plausible tactic that creates suspension. It was rather the way you did it. If one character attacked, the other ran away and then the character that attacked never followed up. Instead he stopped, thought long and hard and then ambled slowly after his adversary. This made the battle be all about highpoints and lowpoints, where the action would be blistering fast and everything in between moved very slowly. This breaks the flow, and flow is one of the most important aspects not only when it comes to battling, but to writing in general. I’m giving Numbers here half a point more because he seemed to be a tad more ‘active’ in his pursuit.

DIALOGUE – 4/5:4/5

In this particular case, the dialogue mostly consisted of the communication with the NPCs and some inner dialogue. Which isn’t a bad thing, really. If I had a nickel for every time I saw people force the dialogue into a battle needlessly, I probably wouldn’t be a rich man, but I’d be on my way there. The fact that this battle ran rather smoothly without the protagonists ever talking to each other speaks for itself, I think. I honestly don’t have much to say. You omitted the needless stuff and left only what was needed. However, because of the lack of dialogue here, I’m going to make the dialogue score out of five and add the additional five points to the action. Because, let’s face it, this battle was all about the action in a specific environment.

ACTION – 12/15:11/15

And that action was very well done. Not perfect, but still very well done. Details like Joshua firing a roundhouse kick to the shelf and NOT making it topple over and how hard it is to move something on a wet carpet is an example of how details should be handled, regardless of the surreal nature of the Citadel. And Joshua climbing onto a cashier’s counter and using it as a treadmill to keep himself busy is simply awesome. I can’t stop imagining that scene and not chuckling. Now, the biggest qualm I have with the action is the way it was performed. At times, I felt that too much time passed during one post. This happened more to you, DN, in particular in the one where Tommy runs away from the ‘Kitchen Appliances’ section, where he gets wounded, escapes, steals a gun and runs away again, all in one post. You leave no chance to your opponent to react to something like that. Joshua had to slow down in his post instead of pursuing you. Because of this, the advantage goes to our Numbers Guy.

PERSONA – 7:7

I think this was a conflict of two very different personalities. Tommy, as a true nephew of Death itself, was rather grim throughout the battle, and appropriately confused with some of the things that occurred around him. On the flip side, Joshua was practically at home, so it was natural that his persona was emphasized more. And his character is almost lighthearted about some things as it befits him. After all, he’s a very young special agent. The whole character display at the end with the frenzied killed bunnies and the know-it-all monk felt a bit overdone, as I’ve mentioned before. It is better to interweave something so profound through all posts instead of cramming it into one or two.

MECHANICS – 6,5:8

Another part of the rubric that I’m going to be very brief in. There is no doubt you two know what you’re doing. Not only were your posts very clean with only an occasional typo here and there, but there is hardly anything serious that really caught my eye. Well, one thing, and it’s about you, Numbers Guy. Sometimes you don’t break your paragraphs when you should (which results in big, fat, thick monsters) and sometimes you format your writing oddly, so a piece of (inner) dialogue isn’t its own paragraph but it isn’t really a part of some adjacent paragraph. Example:
The room was filled with a dull buzzing sound.
I craned my neck, looking up at the fluorescent tube lights fixed to the steel rafters high above. They shed a harsh light into the building's interior, giving objects below a sharp look of surreality. Striding around, I felt entirely baffled. That first sentence should either be its own paragraph of it should be a part of the one below it. There is no middle ground here. Also, my thesaurus says that “surreality” isn’t a word. Because of this, advantage goes to DN.

TECHNIQUE – 6:6

There were some good devices here and there, a metaphor that fit perfectly and the like, but such instances were very seldom. The very definition of technique is going beyond the call of (writing) duty to convey a certain image to the reader and you two should do it more often. So when something is – and I paraphrase – soft, wet, smelly and sticky, don’t use three or four adjectives to describe it. Rather say that it crawled down your hands like sewage muck and smelled worse. Just an example, and not a great one either, but you get the message.

CLARITY - 7:7,5

No real problems here. This thing flowed like a beauty and I read it with ease. Half a point goes to DN because he doesn’t have a tendency to write those long paragraphs that usually deal with too many things in one go.

WILD CARD – 8:7

I was very fond of the way DN used the monks. Usually people just make them to be these somber, perfectly placid bald people that speak in whispers and show you to the door with utmost indifference. But there was one thing that Numbers wrote that was simply amazing and I have to give him props for that. The quote follows:
Normally, speaking to a monk was more like opening a fortune cookie. What they said generally made sense, but you couldn't tell what it applied to.Bravo is all I have to say. This is one of those phrases that should be turned into a proverb.




TOTAL SCORE – 71:71,5

Death’s Nephew is the victor!
Congratulations to you both on one of the better battles in a while!!!



SPOILS:
Death’s Nephew gets 956 EXP, 600 GP and pink bunny with a rubber knife that says hateful phrases when you tickle his belly.
The Numbers Guy (aka 016573) gets 350 EXP, 200 GP and box of special magical band aids that can mend the wounds “on the inside”. They are actually nicotine patches that make you feel a little more relaxed when you use them.


EXP/GP added! Death's Nephew, welcome to the next level.