After Watching Sonicmega get Rather Salty At The Nickelodeon Game Paw Patrol: On A Roll And Quickly

YO WRITERS

Stop what you’re doing right now and go write 3 sentences of your story.

Every time you see this, write 3 lines.

Reblog so other writers will do the same, let’s finish these damn stories.

my artist brain wants to describe colors in fancy words like carmine and vermilion, but my author brain isn’t completely sold that my protagonist understands what those words mean

Another entry from the Stupid Dream Diary.  I saved the dumbest for last: my affordable-healthcare-as-a-self-employed-person nightmare. ————————— Lackadaisy is on Patreon - there’s extra stuff!

Day 4 - Freeze

I appologize, this one got way out of hand. Hopefully you still enjoy.

Prompt: Freeze

Title: A Pilot is the Soul

At the Combat Robotics center in the big city, a crowd of photographers and important looking people in suits had arrived to witness the latest prototype in Fighter Robo being showcased that day. Investors from leading tech companies, as well as KFL fans, had gathered to see the fruits of their investments. As well as the return of a retired KFL Robo Pilot. One dapper gentleman known as Danny Fierce. He was one of the first humans who took his military combat robo rig and had it refurbished for KFL fights. 

His majestic partner stood at the entrance, proud as the day it was re-commissioned for the KFL. For his part, Danny walked up to an anxious-looking intern that was frantically looking around, clutching her clipboard and pen.

“Hey, excuse me. The email didn’t say where to go.” He said, slipping off his weathered cap and scratching his head, “Don’t suppose you could help with that?”

The intern gasped, “Oh thank goodness, we thought you got lost.” She clicked her pen and brought it to her mouth, “Mr. Fierce has arrived at the north entrance, I’ll take him to the briefing room.” The pen crackled some kind of response. She smiled and waved to him, “Follow me please.”

They slipped past the crowd and into the center. Passing by the posters and displays for the latest prototype. There were even some inside the elevator they rode to the top floor. Danny took note of one beside him. He muttered to himself.

“The Maverick mark two. Synthetic craftsmanship honed to its utmost potential? Pah,” He said shaking his head, “Just give me a rig and hold the synthetics.” He looked to his guide, she kept politely silent. 

The elevator opened up to a conference area. At the main podium, was the leader of the Combat Robo program. She waved to them.

“Yes yes, come in. Glad you could make it.” She said and gestured to a seat beside her. “For the guest of honor.”

Danny smiled and made his way past the other rows of tired-looking scientists and engineers. Some had let their chins dip to their chests and were snoring softly. When he arrived at the podium, he reached out to shake her hand.

“Danny Fierce, reporting for duty, Miss--”

“Doctor, actually,” She said, taking his hand, “Doctor Abigail Bishop.” She smiled and gave his hand a firm shake.

Danny smiled and nodded, “Got it,” He took his seat beside the podium, “Please continue.”

“Of course,” Doctor Bishop said. “Today is the big day team. We’ve put in the hours and now comes time to show it off to our eager investors. Right now, they are getting the VIP treatment and the awesome sizzle reel that our media team was nice enough to put together.” She said and motioned to a group seated in the back. They gave a weary cheer, the rest of the congregation applauded.

“And speaking of VIP treatment,” She said, “A round of applause for our very special guest, the renowned robo pilot Danny Fierce.” She clapped, others followed suit. Danny waved politely.

“We stand at a crossroads, my fellow creators,” She continued, “A new era is about to dawn. We have suffered through the setbacks and struggles of mark one, but with this, the mark two, we shall showcase the incredible might of Combat Robo development team!” She clicked a small remote and a projection shot up from the center of the room to showcase the specs and holographic design of the new robo rig. Supportive applause fluttered around the room.

Danny leaned forward.”Say, that’s pretty compact,” He said, “How is a pilot supposed to fit in there?”

Doctor Bishop smirked at him and clicked the remote again, “Oh no no, my archaic friend.” The image switched over to a spec readout, a highlighted phrase said, “Remote Operation and Autonomous Control modes”.

He leaned back, “Ah, I see.” He folded his arms and shook his head, “I dunno, you take the pilot out of the rig, the metal ain’t got no soul.” 

She wore a professional smile, the kind hewn from stone and salt that belies the teeth clenched behind tightly pressed lips. 

“Well, old man,” She said, “That’s what we are here to showcase.” She clicked the remote again. It brought up the specs of Danny’s rig, the Dandy Piston, and the not so flattering details. Including but not limited to a highlight phrase that said, “Unpredictable Human Error”.

“Oh, I get it now.” He said, a smile played across his face. He looked at her, “A friendly exhibition.”

She smiled, “Friendly, yes.”

The meeting dispersed and the crowds gathered at the research center’s KFL ring. Maverick Mk.2 was standing proudly inside the pristine ring. Carbon-fiberglass platting designed to look like an upright fighter jet with legs. Sleek, deadly, and super cool. 

Opposite the black and red rig was Dandy Piston, Danny’s faithful rig. The center was kind enough to get the cobwebs off of it before having it deposited into the ring. Danny stood on the staging balcony situated at what would be called the rig’s neck. Danny slipped into the last of his piloting gear, modeled after the aviators of old, all leather and insulating fur. The most high tech thing on his person, the headset the Doctor was nice enough to lend him, buzzed in his ear.

“Are you ready?” The voice was the anxious intern. 

“Just about.” Danny responded. He popped open the hatch and slipped his way down into the gyro cockpit. He sat back in the pilot seat, a wave of nostalgia washed over him.

“Hey there, you old fool, you remember me?” He ran his hands over the various levers and dials that made up his configuration. He took his time remembering each switch and the feel of the pedals under his feet. “Got another fight left in you?” 

He slipped his hand under the main console and triggered the startup command. The cockpit hummed to life, lights flickering on and gauges spinning to calibration. The music of the machine took Danny to a special place in his mind. A time of great battles, struggles, fear, and triumph. He smiled.

“Uh, are you ready, yet?” The anxious voice said in his ear.

Danny sighed, letting his shoulder slump. “Can’t let me have anything, can ya,” He muttered before adding, “Yeah yeah, we’re ready to rumble.”

Up in the command center, a host of the section leaders were gathered in front of various terminals, all whirring and beeping with up-to-date information of the condition of the Maverick. Doctor Bishop walked the rows, checking on last-minute adjustments.

“Matilda, Flick me the diagnostics. Marco, make sure the software is at its most recent patch, should be 11.5.1. Chell, no drinks at the terminals, please thank you. Juliette?” 

The anxious intern looked from her terminal, lifting an earphone from her headset, “Yes, Abby?” 

Abigail cleared her throat.

“Oh uh, I mean, Doctor Bishop? What is it?”

She smiled, “How is the fossil doing?”

Juliette looked back at her terminal and leaned into the microphone, “Uh, are you ready yet?” She paused and then nodded, “Okay, he said he’s ready.”

Doctor Bishop clapped her hands, “Wonderful, then let’s begin.” She dashed to the front of the command center and clicked her remote, a camera drone floated up to record her.

Out in the KFL ring, a robo announcer drone flew up to address the audience.

“Honorable guests one and all. Welcome to our demonstration exhibition match. Today, our latest creation, the remarkable Maverick mark two, will clash with one of the best robo pilots of the last generation, Danny Fierce. Please, enjoy the show.”

There came applause and cheering. A few of the gentlemen in suits who wore their graying hair in conservative styles, whooped and hollered the loudest, even starting a small chant for Danny.

The announcer drone floated up between the two competitors. 

“Are the fighters ready?” She said.

Danny rolled his shoulders and cranked his controls, Dandy Piston responded by pumping a fist in the air. 

“We’re ready to dance!” His voice cracked out of the rig’s megaphone.

Abigail looked across the command center, her eyes falling on Juliette. For her part, the nervous intern put on her game face and nodded.

“Well then,” Doctor Bishop’s voice boomed from the announcer drone. “Let’s BRAWL!”

The Maverick sprang to attention and charged at Piston. Metal clashed and sparks flew as the two massive battle robots exchanged blows. The audience roared with each heavy hit. Piston was a little sluggish at the start, taking a few hits that rattled Danny in his seat.

“Yeesh, at least dance with me a little before taking me back to the hotel room.” Danny grunted into the mic.

“S-sorry. Your simulation was a lot harder. Should I hold back a little?” Juliette said.

“Oh, so you got sass, huh?” Danny said. He grit his teeth and jammed a pedal. A kick flew up and caught Maverick in the chest, sending it staggering backwards. “Ha, how’d ya like the pepper on that?”

The sleek rig straightened up. Juliette came back on the line, “Actually, that should just about finish it.”

“Finish? But we were just getting warmed up,” Danny protested.

“What she means,” Doctor Bishop said, cutting into the channel, “Is she will no longer need to fight you.”

She looked around the command center, her team looking up to confirm.

“Matilda, good. Chell, excellent. Marco. Marco? How we looking?” She said.

The engineer was furiously typing at his terminal, “Uh, fine. Yeah, we’re fine. It’s fine.” He gave a thumbs up.

She smiled. “Finally.”

She clicked the remote again, her announcer doppelganger appeared before the crowd.

“Been enjoying the fight, KFL fans?”

Cheers came from the crowd.

“Because now it is time to show what the Maverick can really do! Time to switch to Autonomous mode!” She clicked her remote again.

The Maverick snapped to attention, its eyes changing color. Once a humming red, they became a pulsing green. It stood pensive opposite Piston.

Danny squinted at his display, watching the idle rig across from them. Moments drifted by before he chuckled into his mic, “So uh, is it supposed to be doing something?”

There was no response from the headset. Until a voice shrieked.

“Why are its eyes green?” Abigail shouted.

Her team was frantically typing at their terminals. Juliette smashed the buttons on her controller to no avail. Matilda was flipping through a dense tome of code. Chell scrolled through dense code on her terminal. Marco fought to deny eye-contact and keep a low profile. It did not go unnoticed.

“Marco?” She said, walking quickly to him, “Fine? It will be fine?” She asked, pulling him back away from the terminal. The screen said, “Latest patch, 10.9.1”. She stood up straight and took a deep breath.

“Are you telling me, our prized prototype is standing like a dead lump of metal in front of all our investors because it had a system crash?” She said, visibly shaking.

Marco opened and closed his mouth to say something a few times before Abigail heard laughing coming through her headset.

“Aw now, you can’t blame the poor rig.” He said, pushing down on a pedal to have Piston approach the stoic Maverick. “Everyone goes through it in their first fight.” He laughed, “The Freeze.”

He got within a robotic arm’s length. In the cockpit, Danny flipped open a panel that had a big red switch. He let a wide grin pass his face as he flipped the switch. The rig started to hum louder, charging, priming, getting ready. He pulled back a lever, Piston readied a balled fist.

Abigail snarled into the mic, “What are you doing?”

“Let’s see if a nice, hard reset will do the trick?” Danny said.

“Don’t you dare!” She cried out. But it was too late.

In the audience, when they saw Piston wind up, they went wild. They knew what was coming. It had been the signature move of the pilot and his rig back in his day. The crowd cheered as the massive metal fist slammed into the sleek rig’s chest plate, lifting it off the ground. Then, the deafening crash as the hydraulic piston built into its arm sent a massive shock wave rippling through the Maverick and knocking it up into the air, end over end, in a shower of sparks and shredded metal.

The advanced piece of tech landed in a heap on the ground at Dandy Piston’s feet. The crowd was on their feet, cheering for their hero.

Abigail stood in the command center, Marco had pushed his chair far away and now she was left standing alone. Her jaw was clenched as thoughts raced through her mind. The remote that connected her to the investors that had paid for their project was heavy in her hand. Her fingers slowly loosened and let it fall from her grip. 

It was caught by another pair of hands. Juliette smiled and put the remote back in her hand.

“Just another setback.” She said. “Like the mark one. Just think of how good the mark three will be with all this data.”

Abigail shook her head, “There might not be a mark three, not with that pathetic display.”

“I dunno,” Danny said, hollering through the headset, “Seems like my fans got one hellava show.” He laughed, “You tell them I am already on board for the rematch against Maverick mark three, and they’ll fall all over themselves to put money behind it.”

Abigail looked out the window to the ring, where Dandy Piston was striking heroic poses to a no doubt elated crowd. She looked back at Juliette, who patted the remote in her hand and returned to her terminal.

Doctor Bishop took a deep breath. “Minor setback folks,” She said to her team, “Now let’s go win em back.” She clicked the remote.

The folks in nice suits were stepped back into their fancy cars, smiles all around. Danny waved to them as they went off. Juliette stood beside him.

“So, the soul in the metal?” She asked, “Is that how you won your fights?”

Danny looked at her and laughed, “No, I won most of them by being a little stubborn and a lot of lucky. I just wanted to bitch at your boss a bit.” He stroked his chin and looked up at Dandy Piston as it was being loaded into a transport. “But maybe--.” He shook his head, “Bah, I’m gettin old. Come get me when you need a rusty pilot to wrestle with your latest rig.”

He headed off to his ride. Juliette finished taking her notes and hurried back inside. As the new full-time assistant for Doctor Bishop, she would be very busy.

Sir Rathus Kaine Returns

Inspired by reading Seven Blades in Black by Sam Sykes, I made this while trying to emulate the style. I highly recommend the book. Please enjoy my brain nugget.

++++

“Great General Baltha!” Said the messenger, running frantically into the office. Bethany Burlesque Baltha spared an irate glance at the frantic messenger.

“Yes?” She said, voice creaking from the remnants of a cold she was battling. The stress of running the Palace of Great Deeds had been ruining her sleep schedule which had made her condition rather worrisome. But she couldn’t let down the Glorious One, or more importantly, Abigail. She pushed the thought away from her mind. She realized she hadn’t been paying attention to the messenger.

“Uh, what was that?” She said, “Catch your breath and start over.”

The messenger seemed thankful and took a few deep breaths before speaking again. “Like I said, the Crypt of Kings was found open this morning.”

“Grave robbers?” She said and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I wouldn’t think a General would have to instruct her forces to hunt down bandits.” She paused as a cold chill passed down her spine, “Unless there is more to this story?”

The messenger, steadied himself on a chair in front of her desk. She motioned for him to take a seat. He obliged and took another breath.

“We thought it was stranger for bandits to get this far into the Palace of Great Deeds without anyone noticing. So we went into the crypt and found there was only one tomb disturbed. One that we have all been instructed to stay far away from.” He paused as the realization sunk into her. She rose from her desk, her eyes deadly serious and focused on him.

“Show me.”

The Glorious Empire of Divinia held a great deal of the western continent with its heart beating in the capital city of Falk at the top of Mount Spire. Surrounding allies all held an important part of the Glorious Empire. And in Velkinrath, they had the Palace of Great Deeds. A glorified cemetery for the great martyrs and pillars of the nation. Though, that was just on the surface. Deep beneath the polished marble floors, a series of chambers held dire secrets. And among them was the body of the true pillar of the Glorious Empire.

Sir Rathus Kaine. First of the Glorious Empire. The Hero who sacrificed everything for the benefit of The Glorious One. He was buried in a very prestigious place, behind several layers of protective barrier. The scraps of which lay in shattered flecks around the feet of Baltha. She gazed, a pale expression of unrest sitting uncomfortably on her face, into the gaping maw of the opened crypt. The messenger stayed at the door behind her as instructed, but for a fleeting moment she really wanted to have another body there as a shield. Or better yet, she really wanted to turn tail and run back up to her desk and dive underneath and snatch that bottle of aged whiskey for a long and comforting pull. But this would demand a report. And she would need to add a very important detail. One that Abigail would be looking very keenly for. And one that, should she leave out, would reflect poorly on her maintaining the loving relationship her neck had with her head.

She steeled her resolve and pressed onward. The echoing sound of her boots in the stone corridor emphasized the feeling that she was alone in the tomb. And hopefully, that was true.

She reached the remnants of the chamber door leading into the tomb. There were large gashes on the metal door that had severed the layers of locking mechanisms. She felt a cold wind on the back of her neck, she fought her urge to cry out, and simply turned around slowly. All she saw was the messenger standing at the entrance, dutiful and at attention. Poor soul must have been anxious as hell. Seeing his superior meekly stumbling in the dark towards a room he never had any knowledge of. She cleared her throat and called out to him.

“Seems like the grave robbers were using some impressive tools.” She said, and to her credit, she almost believed it. But the gouges in the door were clearly rend from the inside of the room. The messenger nodded from his vantage point far away from her.

She turned back to the door and the room beyond. A cold sweat had begun to bead on her forehead. One last thing to check. Just a quick peek will do the trick. Then she could leave and file a report that there was just some burglars that need apprehending and she could go back to trying to drown troubling memories and nightmares.

She slipped her hand between the cracks in the door and felt for the special switch that deactivated the traps within the room. You could conceive that these traps were built to discourage the incredibly dedicated thief, but she knew there was another being that it was actually designed for. Several layers of powerful and painful magic pointed at the sarcophagus at the center of the tomb. To be fair, it was a rather splendid piece of work, that regal coffin. Draped in the wonderful colors of the Glorious Empire and sealed with hundreds of pounds of inert stone, sculpted to look like the late Rathus Kaine. Or at least, it would, were it not for the gaping scar that tore through the length of the elegant confinement. And by all accounts, that kind of rupture did not appear to come from the outside.

“Oh no,” Baltha said to herself. She began to contemplate her options. She could bring this intel to Abigail, now would be fine. But she knew the question would come.

“And the body?” She would ask. In a voice like honey. So sweet. So viciously sweet. You wouldn’t notice the poison until you were already a blue and bloated corpse.

So, with her fear of the known overpowering her fear of the unknown, Baltha tipped her head forward and looking into the regal coffin’s wound.

Within the sarcophagus, wrapped in the regalia he wore in life, lay the late Sir Rathus Kaine. Eyes closed gently as if in peaceful rest. Hands holding onto the sword given to him on the day his life was taken by an enraged elemental and he passed away for the benefit of the Glorious Empire.

She closed her eyes let out a heaving sigh of relief. The body was still there. Still dead. Whatever had happened here was very strange, but at least she could end her report and Abigail would not come after her.

“Did you miss me?” A voice said.

Her eyes snapped open, Kaine was looking up at her. His eyes open wide. Bright and filled with a light that was not human, or divine, something else. She felt the would fall out beneath her, dropping to her knees and scrambling back to the entrance to the tomb. There came a blast of wind as Kaine stepped beside her. The edge of his sword found its way under her chin.

“After all these years, you never visited.” He said, his voice was distant but she could feel it pounding in her head. “I guess I can’t blame you, what with these magical traps. Did you make these, Baltha? Traps always were your specialty.”

She swallowed hard, the edge of the blade biting gently into the skin of her throat. Her body trembled as she tried to lift herself away from the blade. She was so close to the door, to the trap switch, she could still make it out alive. She just needed to buy time.

“Please don’t kill me.” She said, choking back a sob. “I don’t want to die.”

The pressure against her throat lessened. “Oh dear, Baltha. I am not going to slit your throat.” He said and slipped the blade into the sheath at his side. “You’re just following orders.” His eyes danced with fire as he looked down at her. “Another dog of Abigail.”

“Yes,” She said, stumbling to her feet and falling against the door frame, “I was just a pawn. A tool.”

He tipped his head to the side, “Baltha, what are you doing?”

She jammed her hand into the door crack, “I’m putting you back in your box, Kaine!” She shouted and flicked the switch. The magic in the traps began to hum back to life.

“Aha, I see.” He said and smiled. “So that’s where it is.” The hum of the magic traps began to change tone to a rhythmic pulsing in and out. It sounded like a grumbling, gravelly echo. Like someone…snoring?

“You know Baltha,” He said, his form shivering and fading away to show her still standing over the sarcophagus, asleep on her feet. “You really should get more sleep. You’ll get nightmares.” He said and clapped his hands.

Baltha woke up with a start, standing in front of the sarcophagus, looking down into the gaping wound. The empty box presented the lovely interior of the royal coffin. She turned back to the door, to find Kaine standing there. His hand was slipped into the crack in the door.

“Goodbye Baltha.” The clock of the switch rang in her ears before being drowned out by the roar of the magical traps.

At the end of the corridor, the messenger barely had time to dive away from the blast of powerful magic that ripped out of the tomb. He scrambled to his feet and looked down the glassed corridor.

“General Baltha?” He called out.

There came no answer, but there was a whisper that came from behind him.

“You’re a messenger, right?”

The young messenger spun around to see an emaciated and ashen body wreathed in the scraps of tattered regal clothing, a dangerous blade hung at his hip. He placed a hand on the weapon and cleared his throat to insist a response.

“Y-yes, sir.” He said, fumbling to pull a notepad and everink quill out of his pockets.

“Good,” The shambling corpse said, his smile causing cracks to form at the edges of his face, “Tell Abigail I’m coming for a visit.”

The messenger scribbled on the pad. At the bottom of his notes, a flourished blank patch begged a name. He looked up to the imposing threat before him.

“Uh, who–“

“Me?” Said the crackling creature. It’s eyes flashed with a sickly light and his grin peeled back to reveal sharpened teeth. “I’m the Boogeyman.”

Abled Person: Hey man, can you hold this wad of $2,000 and this one penny for me while I open my wallet?

Disabled Person: YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER FOOL!

The United States Government:

(Watch how many people don’t get this.)

I lost it at "-clear across the room."

Dwarf Fortress is wild

Solidarity

Grondel of Irvasker

I never planned on this turning into a scene. It just sort of tumbled out. So I had no way of knowing how to end it. So, forgive the meme conclusion. Enjoy?

...

The Irvasker tribe of the wintery north always held honor among warriors as guiding doctrine. Every man, woman, and child was expected to show this level of reverence and respect to strength and especially overcoming obstacles, be they from the world or within. This left Yorgen Irvasker, son of the mighty Tusk Irvasker, in a difficult position. The great beast Grondel’s head lay at his feet. The same beast that Yorgen had failed to hunt for months. Indeed, such a feat would yield, by their tribe’s most honored traditions, the seat beside the Chief. Yorgen was conflicted giving such a regal position to an outsider, especially a Bobkin. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times around the pommel of his great sword, debating if he could talk his way out of lopping the sly grin off the Bobkin’s face. The Chief cleared his throat again, motioning to Yorgen.

“Ah yes,” Yorgen said, knocked from his internal monologues of bloodshed, “You have done well, Bobkin.”

“The name’th Withper.” The Bobkin named Whisper said with a painfully comical lisp. He leaned his small frame against the beast’s head, his elbow digging into its ear. “And I think, you got more to thay than that.”

Yorgen stifled a grumble with a cough, “Yes of course. As the customs and traditions of our tribe dictate, you are to receive a title and position worthy of your deed.”

Whisper gave a revoltingly self-satisfying smile and patted the head, “Tho, what will thith get me?”

The Chief stood from his throne of furs, leather and bone and made a wide gesture that made his mammoth-skin cape flutter around him. “For your deeds you shall become a Yar-Vasker.” 

Whisper looked from the Chief to Yorgen. Yorgen sighed and wiped a hand over his face and down his beard, “He means you will become like a brother to the Chief.” 

The minute warrior cheered, “About time you meatheads recognized my might.”

The Chief smiled. Yorgen grumbled, but then noticed a shifting of movement on the beast’s head. Not a sign of life, more like a sudden change in color before quickly shifting back. 

“But before that,” Yorgen said, approaching the head, “We shall make ceremony of this great and impressive victory!” He raised his mighty great sword into the air. The masses cheered at the glinting steel of his blade. “Oh Whisper, the great hunter, the honor shall be yours.” He extended his arm, offering the huge weapon to the small Bobkin.

“Exthcuthe me?” Whisper said, head tilting to the side.

“Drive the blade into the beast’s head, such is the ceremony before honoring you as Yar-Vasker.” Yorgen said with an ice-cold smile. 

Whisper looked at the greatsword, the handle of which was larger than his forearm. “I don’t think--”

“Oh but great hunter Whisper,” Yorgen said, his voice booming, “After defeating this beast, surely this small task is nothing for you.”

“Yes,” The Chief said, his smile was warm and brotherly, “Show us the might that slew the powerful beast.”

Cheers lifted from the crowd, followed by chanting for their new hero. Yorgen beamed, eyes wide and full of malice, down at the small Bobkin. The handle of the weapon aimed at his head like the bolt of a crossbow.

“Uh,” He looked between the weapon and the beast’s head. “Ith thith really nethethary?”

“Oh?” Yorgen said, a brow arching with the hope of mimicking the expression of one who is surprised. “Could it be you do not have the strength?”

Whisper sneered and matched glares with Yorgen, “Well, it was quite a mighty battle,” He let his grin show more of his sharp teeth, “Not that you would really know.”

The chanting of the crowd masked their interaction, but enough people noticed the change in Yorgen, from his usual calm and dominant presence, to the tense presence of a coiled predator. A second chant was called out, probably by one of the younger fools in attendance, that called for more bloodshed.

Whisper and Yorgen held each other at a glare until the burly, bearded man broke first. He turned to the Chief.

“My Chief. The battle with Grondel has left our savior weary indeed and unable to initiate the ceremony.” Yorgen said, his face wearing a worried look that ill matched the giddy sound in his voice.

Whisper let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

“So instead” Yorgen continued, “Mightn’t I do the honors?” He turned and lifted the blade over his head, eyes locked on the head of the beast.

“STOP!” Whisper said, his lisp vanishing. 

Yorgen brought the blade down. 

The head bounced out of the way and tumbled behind Whisper.

“Are you crazy?” The head burbled before twitching and shifting into a different creature. A mix between a shaggy dog and a dragon. The Farceling tried to hunker its large body behind the small Bobkin. 

The crowd went wild, confusion, anger and a couple of people laughing nervously.

“I knew it!” Yorgen cried, “Naught but lies and trickery!” Yorgen strode over to them, blade held tight in his fist. “You dare--”

“Now,” Whisper held up his hands, “Let’s be reasonable about this.” 

“We need to escape,” the Farceling muttered from behind his friend.

“What do you think I am trying to do, Hush?” Whisper said in a panicked voice.

“No, not from him,” Hush said.

Yorgen loomed over them. “I have had enough of you both.” He was shouting over the cacophony of the crowd. “You shall be put to death for your deceit.”

“Silence!” The Chief cried, raising his hands.

A rather tiny Pixum poked its head out of Whisper’s pocket for a second, “Did they figure me out too?” Whisper quickly pushed Silence back into his pocket.

The din of noise in the hall fell away. 

“Where are the guardsmen?” The Chief said, scanning the crowd. Five hands went up.

“Here, Chief!”

Yorgen’s eyes went wide, “Then who is standing guard?”

The five men looked at one another.

“You said you were going to stay behind.”

“I told Bristle to stand watch for me.”

“Then why is HE here?”

“But Grondel is dead, so why would I need to stand guard?”

The crowd turned their eyes on the cowering Farceling. A hush fell over the room. 

Then a quaking wail, the sound of souls being shred and the dead writhing in their graves, came thundering through the hall. Followed soon was the sound of barricades splintering under the force of powerful, unstoppable limbs. 

The Chief went pale, “Grondel.”

Yorgen furrowed his brow, “It's here.”

“Oh shit,” Whisper whispered

Roll initiative…

Day 3 - Bait

Prompt: Bait

Title: Take the bait

The media had gathered for the weigh-ins for each competitor. Massive rigs designed to accurately measure the monstrous competitors, constructed from modified shipping cranes. It was here that the press could get their first look at the opponents and read their energies. Most of the time, it was a noble meeting between two strong warriors. Like the two stepping off the scales now. Cassidy Quake slipped his ARMORFLEX T-Shirt on to take a promotional shot with his newest challenger. The two flexed and traded confident smiles. The cameras flashed, and they went their separate ways.

Simple, civil, easy.

But such is not always the case. And certainly not for the next competitor.

Raptor strut out to the weigh-in stage. The newcomer had struck the scene like a comet, showering the KFL scene with glittery drama and chaos. His massive jacket, covered in rhinestones that spelled out his name, trailing behind him, he sauntered up to his rig. He raised his fists in the air.

“Hello, losers.” He called out and ran a hand through the spines on his head, made up to look like a radioactive mohawk.

Opposite him, his opponent entered. The hot-headed Rawhide was a barbaric minotarus fighter, known for the merciless beatdown of his opponents. He saw the bedazzled Raptor and gave an agitated grunt.

They stripped down and stepped on their scales. A number tumbler hanging over each scale clacked out their individual weight. In order to brawl at the Monstrous weight class, they had to make it under a certain weight. When the numbers finally stopped, the officiator at the center of the stage squinted at Rawhide’s total. He shook his head. The bullheaded kaiju growled through gritted teeth, glaring at the official.

“Aww, what a shame.” Raptor said, shaking his head, “Maybe ya’ll oughta keep off them barbecues, pahrdner.” He put enough drawl into his words that his jaw threatened to slack off his head.

Rawhide glanced down at his gut, but in doing so, spotted the scaly tail pressing down on his scale. The offending limb whipped back to Raptor’s side, and he glanced around innocently.

The officiating security robos shifted from their stations to get within tackling range of the kaiju fighter that was visibly shaking from bottled rage. But the hot-headed fighter had been warned of the prodding of opponents and slowly counted in his head to calm his emotions. The bots stepped back.

Rawhide settled back on the scale and heaved a hot breath through his nose. The officiator jotted down the correct weight and nodded to the competitors.

Raptor watched Rawhide regain control of his emotions and frowned to himself. He’d need something to push his opponent over the edge. One last push. He didn’t want to have to dig this deep. But he’d be damned if he was going to try and take on this guy without an edge.

The two competitors faced off for the photo op. Within intimate distance of Rawhide, Raptor gave a cocky smirk and said, just quietly enough for his opponent to hear.

“Say, is your daughter still single?”

Everything happened in an instant. Rawhide roared in rage and drew his giant, meaty fist back. The security bots pounced on the fighter. The resounding sound of meat on steel clattered through the weigh-in stage. The security bots struggled to hold the rage beast in place. Rawhide’s shaking fist mere inches from Raptor’s smug grin. The reptilian fighter, for his part, had not shifted an inch at the attack. He turned and left the stage while the security bots struggled to keep the flailing, wailing, raging fighter from going totally off the rails. The media trolls would have a field day with this chaos, as they usually did with Raptor’s antics.

In the prep room set up beside the weigh-in stage, Raptor confidently stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him.

“How’d it go, tough guy?” His coach, a giant mothman, asked.

Raptor turned back to face him, then promptly let his knees give out as he collapsed to the floor. He put a hand to his chest, feeling his heart rapidly pounding against his chest. He fought to get his breathing under control. 

“Just as planned,” Raptor said at last. He struggled but managed to put a smirk on his face, “He took the bait.”