The Ratings War IV: Paradise City

[000Ronald]

Aaaaand it's over. Solytus forfeits.
Judgebots! BEGIN!

Wait, wait, I thought you hired judges? Like skin and blood judges. I don't like judgebots; they don't like me either, though, so it's OK.

How close are the judgebots to being done?

Apologies if I seem impatient, but THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME!

EDIT: Ronnie would like to apologize for double-posting, but he's preoccupied with drooling and shuddering on the floor.If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say he's having a stroke. What can I say, the kid's excitable.

So yeah, Ronnie's got no spine, no balls, and may have no brain in the morning. Oh, and Sorrow, on behalf of the human race, thanks for using Judgebots. They're never wrong (coincidentally, congrads on your victory, UltraMaster).

I even took a picture. It's funnier that the webcam was on.

[http://img138.imageshack.us/i/waitingz.jpg/]

 

[Zemalac]

So, uh...I guess I win, then. Kind of an anticlimactic round, for me.

Could some kind soul review my work anyway? I tend to rely on the judges and my opponent to tell me whether I did a good job writing or not.

Spoiler: Oh, I am in such a good mood, I'll do it.

To have it be an actual murder mystery was something I was not expecting; it turned it into quite a joy to read. Both characters were very well defined, their interactions believable. The plot was intriguing. The ending, while slightly predictable, was done with uncanny precision.

All in all, I've become useless; I can think of no legitimate criticisms for your story, which is certainly more than I could say for mine (Ask Rex about that later). I think in this case, what you think is more important.

Although, to be fair, Zem, you did beat me. You shouldn't need someone to tell you've done good.

To say I'm flattered is something of an understatement. I am positively brimming with pride. Thank you for both your criticism and your kind words.

Apologies for...what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, I can't think of a thing.

Thanks for the critique. I like to have someone else tell me how I've done, because when I look at this writing I see something I wrote at the last minute when I really should have been studying for my physics midterm. It's a matter of perspective, I suppose, but there you have it.

And I do realize the ending was predictable. I even made a joke about that with the title. Chekhov's Gunman, intentionally ironic in a couple different ways.

 

[The Sorrow]

Revenge has been served, ladies and gents. The Logician advances and Ultrajoe is eliminated in the first round.
Now, before you respond, Joe, be aware that I am currently in a reinforced bunker 500 feet underground and am thus incapable of being injured by you.
Next fights tonight or tomorrow night.
*Toddles off to watch Marius Zaromskis kick the crap out of Nick Diaz. Brownie points if you know what the hell I'm talking about.*

 

[000Ronald]

Bullshit. BULLSHIT!

Don't fight it, Jerry. I'm the winner, UJ's the loser-

QUIT CALLING HIM UJ IT'S JOE! FUCKING JOE!

Jerry, since when have you been-

YOU LOST! I RAN THE SIMULATION FIVE HUNDRED TIMES! YOU LOST! BADLY!

Well, to be fair-

SILENCE!

Jerry, did you make a bad bet with the robo-mob?

I...no...I mean-

I can't help you if you don't let me help you. Now, how deep in are you?

I...I'm not-

Jerry?

Deep. Deeper than I thought a person could be.

And what do you have that they don't?

A functioning liver, depth perception, and a pulse?

No, Jerry. You have none of those things. What you do have is a galaxy's worth of gigantic system-sized starships. With lazers. That blow shit up.

Hey...hey yeah! That's a great idea, Ronnie!

No, really, if you don't quit calling me that, there will be consequences.

I could blow you up!

No, Jerry. Blow up the mob guys. Then blow me up.

What do you think I am, stupid? I kill you, Chuck Norris has his way with me. Y'know, I hear he doesn't consider it sex if the woman lives.

Good thing you're a computer.

No it isn't!

 

[Ultrajoe]

I must admit, I didn't expect that. My reward for choosing a character I wouldn't miss, I expect.

And yet I do miss him already. Such bittersweet comedy.

 

[Higurashi]

Quite a bit of time before the dust had even settled in the old pub establishment from the defeat of a certain Lovecraftian horror, and very long before anyone had processed what exactly had happened there, a girl walked in, clearly seeming as out of place as she could possible get. Fetching about her appearance was that her hair was long and argent, multiplying the reflections of sunshine a thousandfold as sharply as metal, and her eyes a vibrant gold, making those who would stare in questioning even more numerous. When she couldn't possibly gather more looks from the patrons and/or various creeps in the place, she opened her mouth and spoke above any and all conversation with the voice of an older man.

"Fun, fun, fun for all! Did you enjoy yourselves? You don't need to answer that, I know you did. I don't want to spoil the mood by taking up everyone's time, so let's do business. Goldfinger, Hat Boy, c'mere and let Old Man King tell you a secret. Now, those guys? Amateur hour, am I right? You could do that shit any day of the week. You two, you get to have fun. There's a fairly notorious gangbanger turning himself in to the cops at a station three blocks east. His testimony will incriminate a good three-quarters of the police department. Is it true or bullshit? I don't know, but either way, the justice system will be tied up for months. You don't want that to happen, do you? Get going."

"Old Boy, Joker's second cousin, your turn. Smiley, you like to find shit, right? And you like to help people, don't you, grandpa? Well, you're both in luck. A group of bums, apparently allergic to the good life, set up a little shanty town right on the outskirts of my wonderful city. Recently, a shipment of fine delicacies, intended for some of the more gauche rich dicks, disappeared in the area. Find out where they hid it before the cops do and they get to keep it while you advance. Fail and they starve. Fun for the whole family, right? Move."

Having played the message, the girl offered a warm smile and beckoned the challengers. Now in a womanly voice, much softer and calming than the last, she spoke as she sat down on a stool. "Would it that we had time for questions, I could answer them. Know, however, that I am one of those who will decide your fate and... regulate your presence here should you fail or disobey. Now make haste."

 

[rogueshadows]

uhhh... can you be a bit more explicit with who's up?

like a footnote or something? enjoyed the nick-names, though.

 

[The Sorrow]

The matches are The Gold King vs. Trent Hilthelay and Percy vs. White Space.

 

[RagnorakTres]

*smiles* Finally! Logarithm, Joe, you set the bar pretty damn high there, don't know if I can actually vault it, but least I can do is try, right?

*turns to the glittering monstrosity known as Sam G* May the best Victorian-inspired gentleman win. *bows*

 

[Sam G]

Well, this'll just be a whole barrel of fun...
Rag, I wholeheartedly accept your challenge, and request that thy ponder to yourself: be it better to write long, or to write well? *tips hat to Rag, then vanishes in a puff of brightly-coloured smoke*

 

[Sam G]

Righty-ho, here it is:

Spoiler: words

Book 1: Exodus

?Alright then,? the Gold King declared, strolling to the back door of the pub with stick in hand. ?In the noble pursuit of money, complete this task I shall.? He opened the door and set off at a leisurely pace towards the police station. The Gold King noticed his opponent had set off running, and decided to incapacitate him with a thwack to the shins. Unexpectedly, the old man nimbly hopped over the Gold King?s swiftly-directed stick and carried on ahead without even breaking pace. What a queer old gentleman he was, the Gold King mused. He looked a little over forty, but he had a presence about him that felt much, much older; it was as if he had experienced much more than most other fourty-odd-year-olds. Methinks I?ll have to be wary of that one, myes, The King mouthed to himself, changing gear into a sprinting pace and chasing after the man in the tailcoat. Just as the two leveled with one another, the Gold King?s opponent spun around and shot a jet of flame from his fingertip. Myes, going to have to be pretty goddamn wary of that one, the King mumbled silently, dodging to the side. Unfortunately, the side he chose to dodge to was in fact a busy motorway, and he was unlucky enough to dive directly in the path of a passing taxi. The cab plowed straight into the brightly dressed man without stopping, and sent him tumbling over the top of it (the Gold King pondered on how dedicated the driver must be if he didn?t allow things like that to distract him from doing his job). Ever the optimist, our hero took this semi-lethal accident as an opportunity to gain a lead on his foe and held on to the cab?s sign with all his might. Gripping his stick between his teeth, the Gold King pulled himself up to a crouching position and raised his middle finger at the old man, who was rapidly turning into a mere dot in the distance.
?And then came the mailbox. A blue box, made of metal and filled with messages of love, loss and rejection (in addition to a good number of death threats and parcel bombs), crashed into the back of the taxi with enough force to crumple the rear bumper and send shards of broken glass from the window flying onto the back seats of the cab. Alright, what the hell? The Gold King was perplexed as to how his frail opponent could even manage to lift the mailbox, let alone throw it a good hundred-and-fifty feet with enough power behind it to smash a car. He glanced back in the direction of his foe, and was more than a little surprised to see that he was apparently gliding along the ground after him, at a speed of maybe 80 miles per hour. Naughty boy? It?s a 70 zone? the King thought to himself, drawing his sword from his stick and stabbing it into the roof of the cab for support. As he watched, the aging wizard waved his hand at a fire hydrant, which on cue flew directly towards the Gold King. The younger man hopped off his feet and twirled around, using the sword for support, and managed to dodge the incoming projectile. Telepathy? The Gold King had met a telepath once; a young man with magnetic powers. The two had clashed, and the King had slain him using basic chemical knowledge; namely, that gold isn?t magnetic.
But no. Telepathy was different to what the old man was using. With psychic powers, you only had to think about what you wanted to move, and it?d move for you. There were no hand movements involved. The King thought back to when their race had begun, and the old man had attempted to burn poor Kingsley to death. Chances are, this ability relied on the same basic principle. Fire manipulation? Elemental control? A-ha!
?Wind manipulation!? The Gold King declared aloud. Not only did it explain how he was able to fling heavy things at people, but also how he was capable of floating around like that. Now, how was that information going to help him win the match?? The King began to ponder strategies, all the while dodging heavy things being thrown at the cab.
??Yep! That?ll work!?

Book 2: Acts

This is how the driver saw things.
He was driving his cab to a client?s house, just like any other day. The only difference was that today his client happened to be one of the richest and most powerful people in the known world, and had explicitly stated if the cab arrived within fifteen minutes the driver would be paid a sum equal to his own weight in gold. He had also gone on to mention that if the cab took longer than fifteen minutes to arrive, the driver?s nose would be forfeit. And the driver liked his nose.
Another thing the driver liked was money. But more than anything the driver liked his job. He prided himself on being punctual to a fault, and didn?t even consider his nose to be in danger when informed of the penalty for lateness; he merely rejoiced that he?d be getting a larger bonus than usual today. The driver?s name, by the way, was Alex Bennet. Alex Bennet was the fastest driver in Paradise City. He?d considered becoming a professional race-driver, but decided against it; because above all else, Alex was a nice guy. There was no point to race-driving, as it never helped anyone. Taxiing, on the other hand, got people to places they needed to be. Alex truly believed he made a difference to peoples? lives every day, and he was proud of that. And so, when the man dressed like a game-show host dived in the path of his cab, he didn?t even stop to check he was alright, because there was someone who needed to be somewhere, and if that game-show host really wanted to die that badly, Alex wouldn?t be helping him get where he wanted to go by stopping and checking if he was alright. If Alex really wanted to help transport the game-show host to where he wanted to go, he could always reverse the car and back over him again; but, there again, that man hadn?t paid his fare. Also, the local authorities may not have seen it as just being a kindly cabbie just doing his job. So, Alex kept driving.
And then the mailbox hit his cab. Alex had survived worse, so he didn?t even waste time to stop and chech if his cab was alright. Paradise City taxis were made of stern stuff, and what?s more, if you?ve been hit by a rocket-propelled grenade and managed to keep driving, nothing can really faze you anymore. He didn?t even consider wasting time by pondering as to how or why the mailbox flew into his car. He was a cabbie, dammit, and he?d leave difficult questions like that to philosophers and physicists.
And then the sword stabbed through his roof. Alex?s only thoughts at this point were, Oh, that game-show host?s alright then. Some more stuff came flying at the cab, but Alex didn?t even bother to avoid it, since swerving would only serve to waste speed.
And then Alex arrived at his destination. He stopped the car abruptly, barely noticed the golden-clad man fly off the roof of his cab and land in a bush, and got out of the driver?s seat. Alex walked to his clients? front door, rang the doorbell and greeted the man who opened it with a handshake. As Alex had learned, manners cost nothing in his profession.
And then Alex?s taxi exploded.
Book 3: Genesis
Back to the Gold King again. Kingsley Goldman, as he had been christened, seemed to have a penchant for making things blow up. It was for this reason that the King was hardly surprised when the cab he?d been riding on exploded. Another reason for this may be the fact that being flung from the taxi had discombobulated him slightly, and he wasn?t at present capable of much thought further than the basic ?Breathe air, move limbs, don?t die? routine. More complicated matters were returning, though; notably, the ?Avoid streams of fire and heavy things, get to the police station before the angry old wizard? functions. The Gold King stepped out of the bush he was lying in, noticed the rich businessman, disgruntled bodyguards and tearful cabbie all pointing guns at him, and dived back in again. Three seconds later, the bush had been torn apart by a hail of bullets. Oddly enough, the King didn?t appear to be there when it happened, as he had relocated himself to a position slightly less bullet-accessible: behind a low wall. He raised a hand over the wall which the men would have shot, were it not for the large amount of gold coins spilling through the fingers. The King stood up. ?Excuse me, gentlemen, do you like money?? The four men nodded. ?Well then, can I ask you for a favour??

?YAAAAAAHHH!!!? Alex yelled, running towards the old man in the tailcoat and firing his gun at him.
?YAAAAAAHHH!!!? The businessman and his bodyguards agreed, following the cabbie and firing more guns at the elderly gentleman. Quite predictably, Trent swept the bullets out of his way and scattered them back at his foes, knocking them all off their feet. Trent wasn?t a fan of murder, but unfortunately in this situation it was the only reliable method of making sure the four angry men didn?t get up again and start shooting at him some more. Trent picked up a shard of broken glass from the ground using air manipulation, hovered it over to Alex?s throat, and slashy-slashed away. Once he?d finished murdering the unlucky four, a wicked plan entered his head?

?G?day, Lars! How goes the work?? The Gold King asked the bodyguard, who had caught up to him on the way to the police station. Kingsley noted there was a large amount of blood running down Lars?s shirt. He must have been extra thorough, he decided. And then Lars threw a brick at the Gold King?s head.
?Ouch! That was cruel, man!? The King complained, drew his sword and stabbed the bodyguard in the chest. Lars didn?t show any signs of slowing down, despite the sharp sliver of gold currently residing in his right ventricle. The Gold King pulled his sword out and waved a hand in front of Lars?s face, perturbed. ?Lars, man? Hellooo? How are we today?? The bodyguard didn?t respond. The Gold King checked his pulse. None. The Gold King checked his breathing. None. ?Lars, I?m afraid until further evidence presents itself I?m going to have to deduce that you?re dead,? The King concluded. He promptly decapitated the bodyguard with his rapier. Kingsley was about to continue onwards towards his destination, when he glanced back and noticed Trent chasing after him, with the other three dead men in tow. The Gold King heard him utter one sentence:
?They?re my friends now.?

Book 4: Revelations

A necromancer with elemental abilities? The Gold King was outmatched. All he had was a sword, a chain and an unhealthy love of gold, whereas his opponent could breathe fire, control the winds and raise the bloody dead. For the first time in his life, the King did the sensible thing; he turned and ran. The police station was only a few hundred metres away, and so long as Kingsley was the one to put a bullet through the informers? head everything would be fine. Trent, floating towards the Gold King at a speed that made light look like a snail, picked up a zombie and flung it at his foe. The King spun around, jumped into the air and kicked the zombie into a tree, then landed on his feet and kept running. The old man was catching up to him. Just a few more feet, and he?d be able to pluck the Gold King off the ground and rip his head off. Well, that?s no good at all. Kingsley racked his brains for a plan that would work. Evidently bullets didn?t, otherwise Alex and the rest could have taken him out. It?d be difficult to get close enough to use the sword, on account of the fire. And of course, there were always the zombies to worry about?
?Yeah, about them?? The King muttered to himself. He stopped, spun around, jumped back at Trent?s entourage and sliced their heads off in one fluid movement. An apocalypse-worth of zombies might have been a problem, but when you?re as good at decapitating as the Gold King was? Unfortunately, this little diversion had slowed the King down, and Trent glided past him. Crap! That was really going to make things difficult? The King jumped into the air, twisted himself sideways and crashed through the front windscreen of another passing car. It had worked before?
?Excuse me, young lady, but by any chance do you like money?? Kingsley asked the driver.

Book 5: Armageddon

Trent Hillethay, the Gold King?s opponent for this round, dropped out of the air and moved into a casual jog towards the police station. It was now less than a street away, and it was seriously doubtful that boy-
A car ploughed into Trent, knocking him off his feet. Without even stopping, the car spun on the spot until it bumped into a fire hydrant, knocking it out of the ground and spraying Trent with freezing water. The Gold King flung himself out of the passenger-side door, drew his sword and rushed at the old man. Trent sprung to his feet and pointed a finger at the King, but nothing happened. Oh, of course it didn?t. Trent couldn?t create a spark, because his hands were wet. God, what a cliched strategy. Before he could finish this thought, however, the Gold King was upon him. Trent swung his stick overhead at Kingsley, who blocked with his sword, punched Trent in the head and stabbed him through the stomach, before flicking the blade to one side, severing one of the old man?s kidneys. The King resheathed his sword without bothering to wipe the blood off it; for, as everyone knows, gold doesn?t rust.

?Hi all, don?t mind me,? the Gold King announced, marching through the doors to the police station, pulling a revolver out of his pocket and capping his assignment through the head. ?There. That was easy.? And with that he turned and ran, fleeing all the way back to the bar where he?d first met all those interesting characters, including the aging wizard Trent Hillethay, may he rest in peace.

Ha-ha! Look upon thy death, Raggy-boy!

 

[wesdabigman]

Okay here it is. Reviews are as always appreciated...Please? I like hearing from you guys, even if it is about how awful Deus Ex Machina is

Spoiler: Fight 1 -or- Repent! for the Kingdom of Heaven is near!

A small man sat on the sidewalk of the paradise adjusting his shoes. A smile wrapped across his face and an uncomfortable pair of sneakers locked against his feet that he couldn?t quite force off his feet. Is this the time? The spirit was becoming more cryptic. Maybe this meant that the spirit was a voice in his head, getting simpler as he neared death. Or that it was an angel that meant to ease his ears with simple words. Or a demon taunting his old age. A giant grizzly bear wearing a thong stuck in his cerebellum that was pulling at his tendons. It didn?t matter.
The bar he sat outside of felt cold. He was surrounded by strangers who saw his smile as cocky or overconfident. He was past his good years. He spent his time in bars 50 years ago in better years. Right now, he enjoyed the way the pavement felt, the way his hands seemed to be more relaxed in this city. He felt something, a twinge of importance. It was difficult to describe in? A strong buzz came from inside. ?Hsash Ssasa Hrar Haroo Whish Spash verk Perszzzzzzz.? His smile twanged in frustration as his ears perked in desperation trying to understand what the message was. His age had failed him again, or at least his hearing had. The people of the city walked by calmly, uninterested in the elderly man that couldn?t seem to get a shoe off, or when he did just as quickly struggled to put it back on. ??der what he means to put me here?maybe God is trying to- Here he is.? White looked up to a moment to see a thin, young man. Or a thin, old man. Perhaps just his clothes were thin actually. He had enough gray hair to be White?s age. But he had young?no, the word was innocent eyes. Maybe not innocent. What word was he grasping for?? Something-
?We have to fight now.? The young/old man said rather calmly. He had either done it enough in his past that he saw it as something he had to do, or he got a kick out of it. ?I tell you because it wouldn?t be right to attack you without warning you.? White nodded appreciation and smiled. The people continued to walk by, unnoticing the two older gentlemen. White pointed a finger toward an alley and the two began to walk into the dark. White?s ears acclimated to the silence as they left the crowd. ??Can?t let him get the upper hand early. Don?t know his powers. Need to strike calmly in retaliation. Use protection wisely but still be aggressive yeah aggressive.? It was highly unlikely that the young man was young, unless senility catches on young. Or maybe he was insane. Uncertainty is the spice of life. White stopped several feet into the alley but the other man kept walking further forward. His robes were white as emptiness and his staff was so red, it seemed black. He walked uninhibited for a man of years, implying that the staff was not a walking stick. White wished he could claim the same for his own legs as they jiggled under him. The old man walked twenty more feet, turned to face his opponent and raised his staff. ?You should attack first. Good people wait for their turn to attack. Yes. Not to say that good people sit and wait helplessly, no?? The old man was caught on a tangent and the waiting time seemed to be years before his thoughts would return to the fight. White?s hands began to glow. The spirit stretched across his presence and White pressed one finger forward in a strike through the air. The whiteness spread through the alley and zoomed at the babbling geezer. ?And the music starts. It beeps and it boops but it goes?Shield.? The staff slammed through the air and the whiteness split around the staff, harmlessly floating past him. White slammed another fist forward and the whiteness flew forward like a bullet. ?Reflect.? The white flew backwards and the current shot through White?s arm and it fell numb. White?s powers were already failing him and he hadn?t even lost his energy yet. He took a step back and swung his arm across in a chop to send a straight line of energy at his target. ?Shie-? The old man noticed White making a retreat and his words stuck in his mouth for a moment of clarity. His loss.
The light struck Percy?s chest and sent the old man rolling back down the alley. White didn?t think to use this opportunity to finish the job. It was clear that Percy had better control of his powers than White did. If White wanted a shot, he?d have to take advantage of the city. He?d have to cheat. People walking about the city might provide some cover if Percy had the ability to go on the offensive. The white cloaked figure slipped through the crowd, waving about with his staff as he searched for his target. Whatever damage the earlier strike had done to him was nullified by something.
A flash of light surged through the sky and struck the glowing sign outside the bar. The sign hit the ground and started dropping like a rock. Percy forced his staff up in the air as the people around him froze like deer in headlights. ?SHIELD!? The sign bounced up off a blue oval that shielded Percy and the people around him, though whether he intended to save them or not was up for debate. As Percy used the energy(?) shield to toss the sign off of him, another streak of white pierced through his spine. As he turned to face his attacker, a straight beam pierced through his chest. His knees hit the ground first as his white cloak began to bleed red. The people began to back up as White approached, grinning as he pulled back his sleeves to finish the job. ?No?no, it?s not fair?you?re a bad person?You deserve to die?? White?s hand raised and a glow began to emanate from his hand. He was going to end Percy? motor mouth once and for-
BAM! A rock flew out from the crowd and struck White?s head, driving him away from his quarry. ?That old guy is trying to kill that old guy who saved those people!? ?Which guy is which?? ?The one whose not dying is the one who?s attacking, moron!? ?Get him!? ?Take him to jail!? ?Kill him!? The sound of the crowd gathering around built into a rage. Another rock flew from the mass of people and flew over his head. This opportunity could not slip through his fingers. He had to kill Percy while he had the chance. He stepped forward, trying to scare away the crowd. The crowd didn?t run. ?Lynch him!? ?Hang him!? ?Get him out of here!? The crowd continued to advance as White found his back to a wall. ?Arrest him!? ?Call the police!? ?HOLY!? A spell erupted from behind the crowd and tore through the mass of angry people like tissue paper and slammed into White?s side. As White fell to the ground, with his chest bleeding, he looked upon what was left of the mob. The streets ran with the blood of the people as Percy shuffled through the mangled mess off bodies, his wounds healed and his eyes emotionless at the carnage around him. ?They wouldn?t have been hurt if they weren?t evil. They won?t trouble anyone. And I?ll bring the good ones back to life so they can find the way to justice. Alys said so? She?s smart about those things?? He muttered lower and lower as he walked closer to his helpless prey. ?And now, I?m going to kill one more evil being?All your kind does is destroy the livelihood of others?I?m doing God a favor by cutting your life short?? His foot stepped on White?s throat as he rose his staff to finish the job. White forced his fist into the air as the whiteness spread through the air. ?HOLY!? The two forces collided with each other and a mass of energy encircled both of them and exploded, sending both back ten to twenty feet. Percy flew through the air, but only rolled a bit before landing back at the entrance of the bar. White slammed back into the brick wall and might have felt his spine snap against the foundation.
White couldn?t breathe?He knew it was over?He couldn?t feel anything? Suddenly, he felt himself rise to his feet. Well, no?That wasn?t it at all?That would suggest that he was doing anything. He couldn?t feel himself move but he was definitely moving? Percy worked his way back to his feet and started forward to finish the fight quick. The only difference he could see about his opponent now was that he had stopped smiling? ?Holy!? White tried to close his eyes (or anything) in preparation for his demise but instead his arm surged forward and smashed the beam of holy energy to his side, splashing against the wall harmlessly. ?Perserverance? Today is the day you face your fate.? Wait?did White say that? It didn?t sound like him and he couldn?t even feel his mouth move up and down. It sounded like? the spirit? Percy fired another bolt of holy energy toward White, ?Leave me alone! I only do God?s work!? The spirit (or maybe White?) side-stepped out of the way and paced forward calmly. ?God? Is that what you think? You were a child once and knew the word of God. But you fell into false company. You murdered freely. You even murdered your companions! You violated two of the ten commandments. Thou shalt not murder and thou shalt worship none other than the one true God.? Percy began to fire wildly, but his power was clearly fading as the expense of energy increased with every attack. ?YOU LIE! ALYS TOLD ME WHAT I DID WAS GOOD! I?M A GOOD PERSON! GOD KNOWS THAT THOSE THAT DIED DESERVED TO DIE!? The spirit was only ten feet away and smacking away every bolt that came his way. ?God? Your God is of your own invention. God doesn?t accept whatever you do as holy acts. God set rules for man to follow that you broke. And he is a vengeful God?? White was only a foot away from Percy know. ?Alys lied to protect what was left of your innocence?Accept your fate, Perserverance. God may forgive you, yet??
Percy forced his arms back and swung across White?s skull smacking him to the ground. ?NO! I?m good! You?re evil! And your death will prove my devotion to His Will!? With the last of his energy, Percy summoned pure holiness into his right hand. ?HOLY!? The energy shot from Percy?s hand into White. White could feel the energy tear at everything that was his being, his sin, his vices, his drinking, his hubris. It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. The spirit didn?t care. He needed White to feel the pain so he could use it himself. ?Thanks Percy?Now that this husk of a body has some holy energy?I can show you just how unholy you are.? Percy took a step back in awe? Whatever the being in front of him was, it was unaffected by holy damage?which could only mean-
?Lament your decisions as you rot in the afterlife!? White?s fist surged forward and holy energy shot out of his arm like a cannon. Percy?s body was ripped and torn asunder by the blast of pureness. Everything he had done, every man and creature he had killed, every sin he had ever committed and not begged for forgiveness for had been eradicated from his body. And it had been painful. What was left of Percy hit the ground, cold and dead.
White?s control over his body was quick as if a heavy weight had been tossed into his hands. ?Perserverance?s soul may not have been clean, but it still shines more purely than yours, White. I have brought you here for a reason. I had hoped that your age would bring you wisdom to see the way, but it is clear that I will have to force your hand. We can work together. Or I can use your body and throw it away when I'm done. The choice is yours.? White?s hands began to tremble as the smile washed back over his face. He ran away from the bar, from the corpses, from the waking world. He knew not what he had in him, but he knew that it was not of this mortal coil. And he knew that he feared it now more than ever before.

 

[Khedive Rex]

I'll have mine in by the end of the day. It's currently five pages and I imagine it'll be six - seven and a half by the time it's all said and done. Almost unbelievably short for me but, what can I say, I only started writing it today.

Hectic week. Sorry.

Anyway, by the end of the night, I guarantee it.

 

[Khedive Rex]

Well, here it is. Nine pages in as many hours. It's done though and I'm actually surprisingly happy with it.

Spoiler: Perseverance Vs White

Solitude breeds certainty. Emptiness is the mother of imagination. Lonely nights craft friendly people. Perseverance walked the desert because he knew these things. He studied man and he studied gods and he postulated a theorem that the first is most unlike the other in the company of its ilk. Man is at his worst when he has drunk himself sodden on the kinship of his fellow man. Man is only marginally less ignoble when it has drunk itself sodden on cheap liquor and bourbon. And so, his name announced and his purpose set, Perseverance left the bar to it?s own vices. No one noticed him leave. He didn?t belong there to begin with.

The world outside was warm and patterned with pedestrians that bustled about the road like spinning pollen dancing through the breeze, infinite, purposeless, indistinguishable. Perseverance drank the warm air and let it settle his stomach; nature has a way of bringing sunlight to cold places. Always there remains the option to heal. Which is why Perseverance eschewed conventional medication. He found peace a more powerful restorative.

Perseverance scratched his head through his white turban and watched the world with his graying beard and child?s eyes. It moved to fast for him; always did. And so he gripped his redwood staff with wrinkled hands and the bloody foul lashed to his back cawed soulful protest. Perseverance said ?Slow? and the world raced forward.

The sun voyaged through the sky as blurs of men and women flowed past Percy. He liked it that way, he had stayed in that state for days in the past. He could imagine himself as some great stationary thing patiently observing the world wilt from a small window in the tallest tower of the lord?s mansion. Today that fantasy gave him strength to march on the darkest parts of Paradise City. Step by stoic step swept him past the towers, past the gardens, past the guards at the gates of this brick Babylon and deposited him where everything that was forgotten lay. Shantytowns hobbled together with sheet metal and what insulation could be stolen served as burrows for the castoffs of prosperity. They were damp, all of them damp and tacky in thick clothes with dark colors that smelled of musk and desperation. And all of them, every child with shoes to spare, flew. If the rich denizens of the brick Babylon bustled these homeless burst with light and fire that cooked their backs like burning tongs whenever they dared stand still. To Perseverance it seemed like a tornado of soil when the rich were but a rain of petals. Except for one man.

He stood in pure white and smiled very sadly at the soil that passed him. He wobbled and bent and somehow walked to match Percy?s gait, so slowly. The man was old, obviously, and tired, thoroughly, but he marched one step at a time and seemed to care about the world that had broken his spirits. He reminded Percy of his dad.

The bird cawed and Percy declared ?Dispel?, feeling his charms fade from him like tape being pulled away. The world slowed down or, rather, he sped up. An urchin boy sprinted between him and his target and then, there were no interruptions. Eyes met and both men knew they were about to meet their competition. The strange man in white smiled just as sadly, Percy scratched his head.

?Hello.? The white man mumbled.

?Greetings.? Percy said ?What should I call you??

?White.? The white man said. ?What about your name??

?My name is Perseverance. My friend called me Percy.?

White chuckled, still carrying that mournful smile. ?It will be a long time before anyone calls you that again.?

Percy took a moment to digest the comment. ?That?s a nasty thing to say.?

?Sorry. Wish I could help you but it?s not my call.?

The pair reached an awkward moment. Neither had much to say, and so Percy kneeled and faced the north. ?White, may I pray before we ? well.?

White was surprised. Standard death tournament fare didn?t include the penitent. And this man, Perseverance, wasn?t exactly full of bravado, kneeling on the ground asking permission to pray. Come to think off it, he was an old man. Not as old as White himself but far removed from the vigor of youth. The spirit inside White coiled at the thought but the man he used to be wondered, could he have found a friend?

?Who do you pray to?? He asked, more casual than before.

Perseverance paused a moment. ?Many. I pray to God, Jehovah, Allah; Ra, Isis and Horus; Vishnu and Shiva, Jupiter, Juno, Mars and Venus, Mother Earth and Father Sky, Quetzalcoatl and his brethren and several spirits of animals and plants. Because it is Saturday I will also pray to the Angel of Peace, The Holy Saint Bernard and the Rabbit.?

White blinked a few times. ?Ever hear that line about worshipping false idols??

?I am your god and I am a jealous god. Thou shalt put no other gods before me. Yes. I treat the gods equally and thus they have no cause for jealousy.?

?Well ? hop to it then. I?m not getting any younger.?

Percy didn?t answer, he merely bowed his head. Twenty minutes past with measured steps and White grew more and more confident in his direction, though the spirit inside him loathed the idea. But the man at the bar had spoken, there was some shipment the poor had stolen, and if him or Perseverance found it before the police the poor would keep it. The goal was noble, and it didn?t involve bloodshed. As far as he knew it may even be cooperative, both parties advance so long as either succeeds. At the end of the day, it was a better plan than killing each other. This strange man was starting to grow on him and, anyway, his knee was acting up. The being curdled his stomach at the idea, but White was resolute.

Percy stood eventually, rather out of nowhere. He pricked his thumb once and let a drop of blood spill on the ground before muttering something to himself. The bird on his back squawked loudly.

?What is that thing?? White asked as Percy turned around, his thumb inexplicably healed.

?It is a phoenix.? Percy said. ?Its down feathers can be used to resurrect the recently dead and, being a creature of magic, it?s blood amplifies magical energy around it.?

White considered this for a moment. ?So, you strapped it to your back??

?Yes. And removed the beak and claws so it cannot hurt me. When I must heal others I reach behind me and remove a feather.?

?It looks like it?s suffering.? White said quietly.

?It does suffer. But its pain serves the betterment of all. It is a small savior and I am its cross.? Percy looked around the ghetto he inhabited. White thought it was just for the benefit of not looking into his eyes.

?Why not just kill it?? White asked cautiously. ?You can take the feathers and put the thing out of it?s misery.?

Percy?s eyes still combed the grainy streets and houses, until he settled finally on a cold mother with babe in hand sitting motionless against grey sheet metal. ?It is a phoenix. It resurrects. If I let it free I may run out of down. I could not do the lord?s work as effectively? Come with me, if you would.?

Percy turned and gestured toward the woman. The pair traveled stoically until they reached her. She was quite dead, the daughter too. White covered his mouth and turned from the site, Percy kneeled. The spirit of a newborn shouted with the lungs of an adult as the woman came tearing back from the other side, her eyes shot open in fear and confusion, and then she sobbed. Percy stood and followed White away.

?Point made.? The old man said as he continued his walk down the alley. Percy hardly responded.

?WAIT! MY BABY!? a high voice shouted from behind them. ?BRING MY GIRL BACK TOO!!?

The bird cawed once and White heard Percy cast ?Haste.? The world slowed to crawl and the bloody shaman continued his walk but the man in white stood stark still.

?What are you doing!?? The old man demanded. ?Go and bring her daughter back!?

?All children go to heaven.? Percy said slowly, painfully. ?It is a universal truth present in every theology. There is only question for adults. I bring grown men and grown women back because there is the chance I?m saving them from damnation. But I will not tear a child from eternal bliss into a world that may lead them to damnation. There is nothing right about that? But it is difficult to explain to crying women.?

?Yeah, that?s cause it?s fucking wrong.? White shouted. ?We live for our earthly lives. Killing a person because they might enjoy being dead is a perversion of nature.?

?I didn?t kill the little one.? Percy said quietly.

?You might as well have.?

Percy turned and the pair locked eyes as they had done before. White?s smile still seemed so sad to Percy but the eyes spoke nothing but anger and indignation. He swallowed, judged his words carefully and asked the question he wondered so often in his mind. ?Is it my duty to save everyone??

Hundreds of people drifted by like glaciers as the pair stared each other down, White angry and confused, Percy confused and lonely. White wanted to hit Percy, knew that he could. His powers weren?t always reliable but the anger in his blood and the demon in his stomach told him in unison ?There would be no man left when you?d finished. We could end him.? And hundreds of people drifted by like sap on trees, each one a statue of suffering or degradation. White wanted to hit Percy. But he couldn?t. Because there were hundreds of them, and thousands in the buildings and millions in the city and millions of cities on earth, and he thought for the first time that he really understood one of them.

?No.? White said. ?You can?t save them all. It shouldn?t be your responsibility. Shouldn?t be anybodies.? Percy nodded and accepted this truth. It was good to hear it from someone else. ?Look.? White continued, ?I know everyone?s expecting a fight, but you and I are a little too old for that I think. We don?t have the boiling blood a lot of these youngsters have; not anymore. But, that robot said something about finding a shipment that was stolen and giving it to the poor. That sounds more like our kind of business. Would you cooperate with me?? The demon shrieked.

?Yes.? Percy said. ?All theologies are agreed on one subject. The poor are the most important men in the world. All religions demand that their followers feed the poor, dress the poor, warm the poor; only when the poor are fat and happy does other business proceed. Why do you think some of the holiest sects in existence disavow possessions? Jealousy. God cares for the poor. There is a question about the rest of us.?

White blinked a couple times. ?Well? good. Come on then, undo whatever you did and lets get finding.?

A bird?s caw and the feeling of tape being removed brought the two back into normal time. The woman could still be heard crying in the distance, so the pair stumbled in the opposite directions as quickly as their legs would take them. Percy stopped White once they were out of earshot.

?I must ask one question though.? He said. ?It was said the poor stole the shipment to begin with. Isn?t it wrong to steal? They should be punished, shouldn?t they??

White was surprised by the question, but more so by the look on Percy?s face. It was vacant but curious, like a toddler?s. It made White uneasy, he thought that Percy would latch onto any answer he gave. He was unfamiliar with unquestioned acceptance; though he supposed it was more common in religious circles.

?? No.? He finally said. ?The poor have nothing to begin with. They aren?t at fault when they steal things. Society is.?

?So our obligations to the poor outweigh our obligations to society?? Percy asked, that same blank canvas of an expression.

?Yes. I suppose you could say that.?

Percy nodded a couple times and began walking again. But there was a seriousness behind his eyes that gleamed like knives, he seemed busy redefining his philosophy on the spot to suit the whims of his companion. It disturbed White. He wondered what he was making. More than that, he wondered how a man Percy?s age could so freely re-write his principles. The elderly tend to be set in their ways. White knew that he was.

The pair walked in silence, Percy occasionally healing the sick. White found that it lost its novelty the more Percy did it. He found himself thinking less of the odd priest with every patched leg and sighted eye he spawned. Because for every man he helped there were droves who needed his hand and would never receive it. A resentment blossomed in him that all logical thought could not uproot. It didn?t help that the beast in his stomach told him at every turn to decimate the man.

His beast was an odd one. White deeply regretted stumbling into its life, falling into that ruin, succumbing to curiosity; but somewhere deeper in his mind he didn?t. Being possessed by a mostly all powerful fickle and malevolent spirit, White never had the benefit of friends or ? closer friends. But he?d read a book that contained a passage that struck him like a splinter. ?Love is not excitement or nervousness, nor is it comfort or understanding. It?s not in the eyes or the hips or the heart; it?s not the sound of her voice or the warmth of her skin. Its not like deep mystic oceans or silvery moons. Often it isn?t noticeable. Love is a spiritual connection, an inexplicable wholeness noted only by the emptiness that can no longer be found.? By this definition, White was in love with the demon. Most days he hated that it possessed him and yet, if he held the cure to his woes he wouldn?t have the will to put it to his lips. Not being alone was an odd sensation, always having to think in pairs, compromise, live to the standards of a different entity, it was a challenge. But it provided White with a wholeness he didn?t know how to live without.

And on good days he could think of the spirit as his overbearing wife.

He wondered perhaps if that was the difference between himself and Perseverance. They were both older men, both powerful, both possessed by the supernatural (more literally in White?s case) but where he had spent decades living with a creature that always demanded more attention and more control, Percy spent decades living with himself. He watched the red bird bob and caw as Percy fixed a gunshot wound. It disgusted him. But it?s suffering made sense. White could never do it, a thousand eyes would look on him daily, call him a monster, demand the phoenix be set free. Percy only answered to himself and the phoenix. It?s easy to be certain when the only person to argue with can?t argue for himself. And that certainty bred effectiveness no one living in a society could hope for. But it also grew coldness no society would accept. Percy stood from the bloodied man and wandered back to White?s side. He resented the priest even as he grew a respect for him. White decided they would not be friends, or perhaps White?s wife dictated that. He knew they were a good team though, they challenged each other in ways old men are rarely challenged. In a sense, it explained White?s angers, and the demon?s fear.

?White.? Percy said. ?That man was shot after delivering the stolen wares. He gave me the directions to find them.?

?Good.? White said. ?No time to loose, the police will be on their way soon and we have to find it before they do? Out of curiosity though, who shot him.?

?One of King?s associates. This was arranged for our benefit.?

?Ah, should have guessed. That man doesn?t care too licks about people. More interested in their use as tools than their value as humans..?

?Yes.? Perseverance said with an ounce too much certainty. Something was at the edge of his voice that White couldn?t place, but it didn?t sound sinister. ?Well, let us hurry.?

The pair set off on a Hasted stroll. White couldn?t jog except with the use of his powers and he was nervous about opening that door when the spirit seemed so enraged at Percy?s presence. So instead the pair walked purposefully past poor men rooted to the ground, deathly slow. They bridged the mouth of an alley and Percy stopped their travels to point inside. ?They?re in there.? He said helpfully. White nodded and took the lead. He had seniority after all.

Limping on legs already worn thin from a full days walking White stumbled into the alley and found a trap door at it?s center. He gestured to Percy to pick it up, who obliged, and the pair discovered a short winding staircase leading to the lower levels of the city. The world was still frozen solid and the scene that formed in the ice was at once beautiful and terrible.
Five foot tall crate scattered the large rock pavilion that served as the entrance to the sewers. Some of them stood empty. Some of them stood closed. Precious few were newly opened by men in the middle of prying guns from their workman?s jackets. Inside these sat women with scared or hopeless expressions. They were unwashed and their starvation was easily visible below revealing clothing. The commodity the poor stole from the wealthy was slaves, in various degrees of degradation. Some of them were crying.

This was the first thing White recognized. The second was that he and Percy were not the first the discovery this den. The men in workmen?s jackets were pulling guns from pockets and belts and ankles because, in the distance at the edge of the darkness, stood a squad of highly armed and armored police. They were already in the middle of a slowly streaming firefight. A few men lay dead on both sides.

White turned to Percy in shock to see the priest disrobing from the waist up. A collection of skulls fell from the inside of his robe. He studied them all and picked up one with particularly pronounced fangs.

?What are you doing?!? White demanded.

Percy barely looked up from his skull. ?We are not the first to discover the stolen product. If the poor are to keep it we must help them defend it.? Percy pulled a down feather from the phoenix?s back and plucked the skull. It grew into a mountain lion. ?This one will help us. These skulls are specially treated, their souls never move on which means they can always be brought back.? Percy said, a pinch of pride stirred with sadness.

?This isn?t some product we?re talking about, these are people! We will not help the poor keep these women enslaved! Slavery is illegal!?

?Our obligation to the poor outweighs our obligation to society.? Percy said, conviction smoothing his words into silk. They stung coldly against White.

?It isn?t about the law, it?s about human rights. These girls are suffering.?

?But it is not our duty to save everyone. It shouldn?t be anybody?s duty.? Percy patted the lion on the head and it set off at a pounce. White watched it tackle one of the slow moving cops and tear his jugular out. He flew back to Percy quicker than he thought his joints could carry him. ?Goddamn it! Stop using my words against me! And call that thing off! This is different, we can?t defend slavery Percy!?

The priest starred at the man in white for a long moment while the lion dealt with officer after officer in bloody execution. ?You called me Percy.? He said finally. ?You said that wouldn?t happen for years.?

White didn?t care for the touching moment, there had to be action now if he was going to save the slaves. He lifted his arm and shouted one last time ?CALL IT OFF!!!? all the while turning the key to the gate of his spirit.

?You were wrong.? Percy said. ?You lied to me.?

White sent an energy beam of anger and justice soaring through his arm toward Perseverance. Percy lifted his staff and uttered ?Reflect?. White?s body burned white hot and his old ribs broke as the blast sent him into the air. His old hip broke when he landed on his side. And his spirits broke when he heard Percy shout ?Dispel.? The world melted into normal speed and all mauled cops fell and the scared girls shouted and the poor criminals shot wildly at the animal in their midst. Percy was the only solid figure, marching closer to White with the solid determination of some great patient thing watching him from the tallest tower of a dark decrepit estate.

?I taught you wrong.? Was all he had to say. ?Who was I to try? I should have listened to my gut, she?s always right.?

?Did you lead a righteous life?? Percy asked.

?We?re about to find out aren?t we?? White shot back. He was too old to fear death.

?Yes.? Percy said a note of finality in his voice that rang of something distant. It wasn?t sinister, but it was cold a damp and it sucked good men in and wrung the breath from them. White realized they both had their demons. His had just been kinder.

?HOLY!? Percy said. A beam of energy tore White bodily and dark vapor escaped from the gaps. There was a shining aura around him, and then there was only a corpse.

?HOLY!? Percy shouted again. A box of slaves died. ?HOLY!? The poor died in droves, a great shock to Perseverance. ?HOLY? What remained of the cops fell and never stood again.

Everything dies. Nothing passed the test. That dark, cold underground was a burrow of villainy and vices no good man could hope to live through. And so, when everyone had passed and his prayer rituals were complete, he left through the spiral staircase. No one noticed him go, he didn?t belong there to begin with. Or perhaps he did. There was no one left to lecture him on the subject.

Percy walked out and drank the sunlight letting it settle his stomach. Peace is the greatest restorative man could ask for. But true peace was reserved only for the enlightened. And wisdom can only be taught by the wise. Perseverance set out for the bar out of obligation, he dreaded returning but he needed somewhere to walk so the people zipping by would seem more real. He thought that might be important. Though he wasn?t sure.

All he could think of was a single sentence from the Tibetan Book Of The Great Liberation. ?If in your travels you find a Buddha on the road, kill him.?

As always I'd love a review. Particularly on this work as its a better representation of what my work looks like raw and ... in a way I kind of like it better than the highly expository stuff I ussually write. I haven't slept on it though and that may change everything. We'll see I suppose. Anyway though, as I'd said, reviews would be much appreciated.

Wes, I haven't read yours yet but I will tommorrow (or tonight if it turns out I can't sleep). Would you like me to review it? I always feel a little awkward reviewing my opponents stuff but if you don't care I don't care and I tend to do pretty in depth reviews so ... Eh, its an option. I put it on the table.

As for you Sam G. You will recieve a review. WHETHER YOU WANT ONE OR NOT!!!

 

[wesdabigman]

Yes, I would greatly enjoy a review. The more in-depth the better. I'm pretty doomed, anyway, might as well get a eulogy as I leave.

And as for yours, I wouldn't feel right reviewing your story. I was just rather out-classed this round and I didn't have the luck of the draw this round. I can say that your story was intense, displayed a good respect and depth for a character that wasn't yours, and was very incredibly interesting from beginning to end.

Good luck in the next round, unless the judges are insane.

 

[RagnorakTres]

Spoiler: Madness and Wind: As you gaze into the abyss, reflect that you never know what might gaze back...

Trent smiled slightly. His reserve had returned since he got to the bar and he sipped his White Russian as King spoke through the girl. Noting his opponent, he smiled slightly. The man was bedecked in gold from head to toe and even drank an aged amber brandy.

Gold. Such a magpie's eye did humans have.

Trent shook his head and smiled slightly before draining his Russian, tossing his glass over his shoulder. Unerringly, it landed in the barkeep's nonchalantly outstretched hand. Neither of the men had so much as looked at each other. With their backs still turned to each other, the barkeep (who had not so much as glanced up from wiping the bar, said "You realize the boy's already gone, right?"

"What? Oh. Drat." Adjusting his top hat, Trent strode out of the bar with a purpose, striding efficiently after the extremely noticeable gold-plated figure.
**************************************************************
The Gold King finished his brandy as King finished speaking. Smiling slightly, he saw that his opponent was quite the old-timer and walked out of the bar before Trent finished his display of badassery. Heh, I won't even have to hurry. Still, better to be safe than sorry...

Dashing the window out of a lime-green Porsche 911 that was inadvisedly parked in his path, the Gold King slid in and hot-wired the car. Smiling slightly, he cruised off towards his destination, secure in his knowledge of victory.
**************************************************************
Trent saw the morbidly mis-colored car roll out onto the street and thought nothing of it. What the citizens of this particular city did was of no interest to him.

If Trent's eye hadn't happened to catch the glint of gold in the driver's seat, the contest might have ended with very little bloodshed and most definitely in favor of the human corbie.

But his eyes, trained for decades to take note of the insignificant, did catch the glint of gold in the driver's seat of the ugly car. Making quick connections, Trent's long-lived brain reflected that there was no such thing as coincidence. Besides, who else would wear a suit made of gold?

Flicking his coattails, Trent took off his top hat and fished his walking stick out of it, the hyperspace pocket he'd sewn into it working quite well. Tapping the stick on the ground, Trent called up the spirits of air and floated on down the streets, careful only to pace the Gold King. If his opponent was confident in his victory, it would only be another advantage to the old magus.

He collected a few strange looks from people as he moved at a decent clip down the street, probably around thirty miles in an hour. So focused on his quarry was the magus that he neglected to remember the on-sight kill order that was still in effect on the contestants. Fortunately, the sight of a forty-something man in a top hat and 'tails floating down a major throughway in broad daylight was enough to distract most of the citizens from that order, and those that did remember caught a glimpse of the ruby eyes of the skull on the man's walking stick.

These latter reacted at such an instinctual level that most of them to this very day remember nothing between first glimpsing the mage and waking up curled in the fetal position at the hospital maternity ward where they were born. Those that do remember more are locked in padded cells, wear the littlest jacket and mutter ?The eyes...the eyes...the eyes...? all day, every day.
**************************************************************
The Gold King cruised down the street, careful to obey the traffic laws. This wasn't downtown New York, it was still more efficient to drive than to walk. He had almost no doubt that he would be the victor of this particular little match-up, and any doubts he did have were banished as soon as he saw the police station.

Carefully parallel parking the stolen car, the Gold King strode towards his certain victory.

Or would have, had he not suddenly found himself flat on his back with a silver-tipped walking stick standing on his chest. He struggled to get up and found that the pressure exerted by the stick seemed to exceed what the laws of physics dictated.

?You know, you really should pay a little more attention, child. You'll get killed if you're not careful,? came a cheerful voice from about seventy yards down the street. ?I'm not going to kill you,? said the voice as it approached. ?No, that would be what King would do and wants me to do. Given the unshakable feeling I get that he's not a person I wish to emulate, I don't believe I shall do as he wants me to do.?

Now the voice was about thirty yards away and the pinned man was slowly working his rapier out of his walking stick. Not going to kill him? Foolish. He could feel the slightest of tremors as the owner of the walking stick (which seemed to be glaring at him out of a pair of rubies set in the top) strode towards him. As the voice stepped past him, removing the stick from the chest of the Gold King, it added ?of course, I don't object to killing you if you try to kill me, particularly with that golden rapier.?
**************************************************************
Within the police station, the ex-Mafioso grinned like a madman. Finally, he was safe, finally he could acquit himself of all those debts and still make his mama proud. Maybe he could even get back to Brooklyn, visit his parents. He knew that nothing happened in Paradise City without King knowing about it and he figured the lack of bullets in his chest cavity indicated a kind of tacit approval.

Shifting slightly in the uncomfortable metal chair, he sat in the interrogation room with his lawyer. The old shifter was sitting across from him and seemed bored. ?Hey, when do you think they'll get me out of here?? the one-time wise guy, named Giovanni Basso asked.

In a monotone, the lawyer replied ?I'm sure they're working as fast as they can. Though it is rather strange, we've been sitting here for close to three hours.? He shrugged and got up, pausing in front of the door. ?Want some more coffee? They should be done shortly.?

?Nah, I'm already really jittery.? Stretching his legs out underneath the cold metal table, Giovanni glanced around the stark room. ?You could bring me a book or a magazine or something, though.?

?Alright, I'll be right back.? The lawyer walked out of the room and hustled out of the building. He'd lived in Paradise City long enough to estimate King's reaction and timing, though he wasn't always perfect. Nevertheless, he knew that man was not long for this world.

Climbing in his Rolls-Royce, he didn't even notice the pair of Victorian figures a hundred feet down the road, the one in gold with a sword stuck in the other one's shoulder.
**************************************************************
Trent sighed. A sword in the heart? Was the man that unimaginative? He played along though, staggering and pretending to be surprised, only to turn said stagger into a well-placed kick in the man's knee. He felt the bone shatter under his foot and the pressure release from the sword as the Gold King grabbed his suddenly broken knee.

Reaching behind himself, Trent eased the sword out of his left shoulder, wincing slightly as the blade left his body. There was no blood. The Gold King, on one knee looked up in wonder and fear. ?Wh-What are you?? he stammered, his one good knee planted firmly to the pavement, giving him a look of subservience.

Trent smiled widely and good-naturedly at this question and responded simply ?What you see.? Then he tapped the fairly normal human behind the left ear with the silver skull, inducing unconsciousness. Summoning the spirits of air again, he put the man on a stretcher of wind and told the spirits to get him to the nearest city's hospital.

As the body of the Gold King rose out of Paradise City and sped off to the east, Trent strode into the police station. After some quiet inquiries and a few minutes of searching, he found the target of the operation.
**************************************************************
Giovanni had been getting a little worried. What had happened to his lawyer? Thus, he can be excused for being surprised when the door opened to reveal, not his lawyer, but a middle-aged man in a top hat and 'tails. Before Giovanni could even ask this stranger his name, he held something up. Giovanni's eyes were drawn inexorably towards the glint of silver and, eventually, met those of the skull on the tip of Trent's walking stick.
**************************************************************
Minutes later, Mr. Basso was found by the police, crying tears of blood on the floor, rocking back and forth in the fetal position. He was taken to the mental health ward of the Paradise City Hospital, where he spent the rest of his short days crying and muttering to himself. The last words he ever spoke, however, haunted the staff member who heard them to his dying day: ?I coulda taken anything else...? And, as though he still had eyes instead of empty sockets that still wept blood, Giovanni Basso looked straight at the male nurse who had come to give him his sedative. ?But those eyes. It was the eyes, man. Everything else was bearable, but those eyes...? A shudder wracked the body of the man who had clawed his own eyes out.

Late that night, deep asleep due to heavy sedation, Giovanni Basso stiffened and screamed one last time. Before the nurses and doctors could so much as open the door, Giovanni had swallowed his tongue and choked to death. His skin, so they say, was as white as the bedsheets, as though, once more, he had seen that which had driven his sanity from him.

Reviews'd be mightily appreciated, if anyone feels like doing one. May the best man win, Sir Sam.

 

[The Sorrow]

Looks like this one's over. Activating judgebots.

 

[Crowghast]

As a sort of cop-out device to escape my obligation to personally review four separate contestant's very unique, very long works of... longness, I have devised a devious plan to trick them into a false sense of satisfaction. So here is a review of all four works summarized into three keywords to describe my feelings for each. Observe, and be fooled into fallacious contentment!

Sammy: [i\]Jaunty. Golden. Fun.[/i]

Wes: [i\]Strange. Blocky. Cool.[/i]

Khedive: [i\]Morality. Conflict. Long.[/i]

"Raggy-boy": [i\]Classy. Psychological. Scary.[/i]

Nothing else to comment on at the moment. Only that Percy brings to mind an alternate world for Hellblazer, in which Constantine is the reincarnation of an alternate Gandhi who took acid and had a pheonix taped to his back. And shot demons.

Also, "Jaunty Golden Fun" would be a great name for a band.

Maybe an alternative band with German folk inspirations. And one of those things that go "twawawung~g" in your mouth.

 

[000Ronald]

Y'know, it just occured to me that we're not interacting. At all.

I mean, I thought that was the point of having all of us in the same fucking room; we're supposed to chat it up. In fact, I'm gonna do that. Not by myself, obviously, but I intend to.

This serves the dual purpose of letting us get to know each other's characters better, and thus, depict them better in each other's stories. You don't want to get disqualified because you wrote a quiet, strong-type character as insecure and afraid of death, do you?

So anyone who wants to write a fluff story with me, drop me a line. I don't want to do it by myself, but I will.

Apologies Abound

 

[Higurashi]

Yep, sure is. Seeing as I'm not in the fights, I'm kinda itching to write something too. I'll happily involve myself in any fluff. It's so soft and cuddly. Kind of like you and me, Loggy.