A bracket appears on the screen, announcing our guild name and the guild name of our opponent, Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus, or, apparently, the DDNuTs for short.
“I don’t even want to know what that means,” I grumble.
Rocket: It means Never tickle a sleeping dragon.
Me: What part of I don’t even want to know what that means do you not understand?
The trumpet sounds, the Knights versus five dwarves riding giant kangaroo rats, aka the DDNuTs.
“My turn.” I move my hand to equip my Tickle-me-Elmo themed nutcracker, item 98.
“Not quite,” says Sophia. “They charged us, so they get the first attack.”
The first three dwarves miss their attacks on Sophia and Veenure. They almost hit Aiden, who is saved by Chrono. One of the dwarves rides towards me, his tongue wagging and his eyes radiating fury as he sizes me up. He’s the ugliest of the bunch, which takes some doing as they’re all ugly in an inbred, gene-damaged, radioactive mutant kind of way. He screeches and roars as his dipodomys spectabilis eximae magnitudinis leaps into the air to multiply the striking power of his swing. The cavalry ax clangs and sparks against my armor.
“Bastard!” I shout as my life bar takes a dip.
The final dwarf advances towards me, stops, and waits as his short ax lengthens into a wickedly pointed halberd. He bangs the butt of the polearm on the ground, smiles, blocks one nostril with a finger as he cocks his head and blows a stream of toxic-looking yellow dwarf snot across the intervening distance, where it splatters at my feet.
“How do I counter?” I shout as his mount rears up and he preps his charge.
Rocket: It’s all about your DI.
Me: ENGLISH!
Rocket: Defense intelligence. Note: yours is low.
Chrono saves the day. He lunges forward like a Secret Service Agent taking one for the Gipper, and the pointy end shatters against his Slavic armor. The panda-hatted kangaroo rat lunges forward and chomps a McGruff-sized bite out of Chrono’s shoulder.
“Damn! That’s some bite!” I say as the rodent of unusual size and his under-sized rider bound away.
“I’ll be all right,” says Chrono, “but we need to hit them hard this round because I’ll need time to rejuvenate for the next battle.”
“Rejuvenate?” I ask. “You can do that?”
“The armor,” he says as he taps his chest. “But it’s a bit slow.”
Veenure pumps her fist. “Our turn! Aiden? Quantum? Who’s up?”
“I got just the thing for this bunch, but I’ll need some magic. Sophia?”
She nods. “Just tell me what you need.”
“I just need you to make something really big – really, really big.”
She shoots me the thumbs up and I step forward and equip item 200, an industrial-sized Lehman Brothers Paper Shredder, perfect for post-recession cover ups. I hold it up over my head for all to see, and the crowd fails to appreciate the depth and scope of my artistic vision; beer steins, trash containers, deep-fried stadium food, vuvuzelas, picnic coolers and folding chairs are tossed onto the fighting field.
“Tough crowd,” Aiden says.
“They don’t like the fact that you are using other-world weapons,” Veenure shouts.
“They can collectively kiss my ass!”
Sophia plays along, “Let me guess, you want me to cast Embiggen on your paper shredder?”
“That’s the name of the spell?”
She nods.
“Well then, LET THE SHREDDER EMBIGGENING BEGIN!”
Sophia floats forward; her über-spooky, limited edition parachute gown of damned souls flaps and billows even though there’s no breeze. She pauses to allow the crowd adequate time to fully appreciate her awesomeness, and it occurs to me that this is the exact same shit that the late and unlamented Rollins and his Reaper butt-buddies like to do. With a dramatic series of arm motions that look exactly like the Village People’s YMCA routine, and an incantation that highlights her grasp of the intricacies of Thulean magicalness, she finally casts a spell that makes the paper shredder grow to the size of Doc’s RV.
Veenure gives me the stink eye and shakes her head. “What the hell is this thing supposed to do?”
Aiden gets it immediately.
Morning Assassin laughs in delight, claps his hands and does his David Blaine act. He appears between two of the DDNuTs, grabs their kangaroo rats by the tail and disappears with them. All three reappear at the feed chute on top of the shredder and he tosses them in. The mammoth macerator sucks them in without a hiccup and spits them out as pixie dust and magic sparkles. Mrs. Hughes’ baby boy is mondo disappointed at the flaccid Richard finish; I was hoping for blood and guts and twisted metal – screaming would have been good too.
“Can’t always get what you want, I guess,” I say as the crowd jeers, hisses, boos, and makes fart noises with their plastic horns, “but it worked. Chrono, toss another one in!”
“With pleasure,” he says.
Rocket: Awesome, got that on vid fo sho.
Me: Vid fo sho? Sounds like a Vietnamese dish.
Sophia: Racist.
Me: Give me a break.
Sophia: I’ll try when you stop being racist. And misogynistic. Oh, and a show-off! YOU ALWAYS TRY TO SHOW OFF!
Me: In that order, huh? And please, the all caps, my brain, my eyes.
Chrono barrel-rolls forward, hits a leaping point and goes airborne. He lands like a superhero between the three remaining dwarf riders. Two of the DDNuts fly up into the air as if they’ve just bounced off a trampoline and land in the shredder’s feed chute.
Veenure finishes the match by casting a spell I’ve not seen her use before. The final rider twitches as his flesh melts off his body, leaving his dwarf skeleton atop the kangaroo rat skeleton.
“What was that called?” I ask as the trumpet sounds, indicating we’ve won.
“Flesh Stripper,” she says as places both hands in prayer position in front of her body. A wave of energy spirals around her fingers and fizzles into a mini Chinese New Year’s celebration.
I laugh, “You just ruined that for me.”
~*~
Our guild name lights up on the Doritos XXXL Jumbotron. The crowd is too rowdy for me to get a read on their opinions of us, but the increase in garbage flying onto the stadium grounds makes it pretty clear that they’re not fans of the Knights. Can’t win them all, or in James Dean’s words, gratification comes in the doing, not the results.
We respawn in the locker room.
“Flesh Stripper?” Sophia narrows her eyes at Veenure. “How did you learn to cast that? It’s easily level 40.”
Me: Innuendo anyone?
Rocket: Ha! I finally get one of your jokes!
Veenure adjusts her Schoolboy Q hat. “I took a quest to retrieve a Grand Relic as part of an Adventure Zone Challenge set up by the Maximum Fun Network. The winning guild each received a spell above their pay grade.”
Sophia nods. “Flesh Stripper isn’t a bad choice, but as a Dark Mage, I would have taken something like Internal Infection instead.”
“But Flesh Stripper kills an enemy instantly … ”
“You’re right,” says Sophia, “but only if you are at a higher level than the enemy. Internal Infection takes fifteen percent of an enemy’s HP per turn and gives it to you. Plus, it gives them disadvantage.”
“Did not know that.”
Aiden says, “Looks like we’re up again.”
Before I can make a quip about the geekiest fantasy locker room I’ve ever had the displeasure of spawning in, the Knights materialize on the field to an increasingly rambunctious crowd. I shake my fist at them, as if that will do any good.
Rocket: I bet you could take out at least a few of them, Q Pop, until they overpowered you and ripped you to shreds.
Me: Thin ice, Rocket, thin ice.
Sophia: The gates opening! PLEASE STOP THE MINDLESS BANTER ON THIS CHANNEL!
Rocket: PLEASE STOP TALKING
IN ALL CAPS.
The gates open up and Rocket’s zoomed-in image appears in front me. This one is going to be fun.
“Head’s up,” I tell the three not on comms, “our next battle is with a group of Reapers, or angsty tweener dipshits, as I like to call them. Careful of their weapons, they have real world implications.”
“They’re like the ones in the OMIB,” Veenure says.
“Yup.”
She throws her hands at her sides. “I will … ” She equips some armor I’ve never seen her wear before. It almost reminds me of a hockey goalie chest protector sans the shoulder pads. “ … Kill these bastards for what they did to Zedic!”
Rocket: They have anime weapons! Here’s the breakdown: the scissor blade is used by a character named Ryuko in Kill La Kill. The stapler hands are from an anime called Bakemonogatari. The gloves that look like a pair of cat heads are from an anime called Ookamisan and her Seven Companions. Finally, the sword that is twenty-five feet long is from an anime called Fairy Tail.
“Rocket says that they are a bunch of anime freaks with stupid weapons.” I size-up the swordsman. He’s the most menacing of the bunch, even with the fact he’s baring his midriff and there’s a tat across his chiseled belly that reads Hench 4 Life.
“Bring it,” growls Aiden.
Chrono asks, “Why are there only four?”
“Because of the sword,” Sophia explains. “I’m familiar with the Bustermarm Sword. It was on display at a weapons convention I attended in Valhalla last month, selling for rupee equivalent of $250,000 USD, It has the ability to cut through the earth. My guess is the tournament monitors put a handicap on the group because of it.”
“They either stole it or bought it,” I say, “and this crew doesn’t look smart enough to steal a car with both its door open and its key in the ignition.”
The trumpet sounds. No sudden attack this time, Strata Godsick’s brainwashed minions strut over to us like they’re auditioning for Cobra Command. If this crew of mud-brained misfits could walk towards us in cinemaesque slow motion, they would.
“Can we take their weapons?” I ask, my peepers fixed on the ridiculously disproportioned sword.
“We could make a wager,” Sophia says as the Reapers approach.
“Will they bite?”
Chrono scratches his chin. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Sophia takes the lead, her Robe of Illusion shimmering like Vegas on DMT. “Before we begin,” she says, “we challenge you to a wager.”
The head Reaper, the one with the sword that is definitely over-compensating for something, stops and flexes his neck muscles. Because of the size of his sword, he isn’t in the middle of the group as a leader normally is; rather, he’s furthest to the right, allowing him plenty of space to drag his sword behind him.
Me: More about the sword, Rocket.
Rocket: It’s called Pantherlily’sBustermarm (バスターマアム). It adjusts to its owner’s size, so it’s always five times the size of its wielder. The hand-guard forms a feline head with Lacrima crystals for eyes. Its resting size is that of a normal sword; it is activated when the user equips it and syncs with the crystals on its hilt.
Me: Where are you getting this?
Rocket: The iNet. Where else would I get anything?
Me: Me likey, me wanty.
The head Reaper points his finger it at Sophia. He’s wearing a pair of fingerless leather gloves and enough faux Nazi-Biker-Viking rings to hamper finger movement. “What’s your wager, deadman?” he asks in a deep-pitched, mechanical voice.
“Our best weapons for your best weapons.”
He snorts.
“I’m serious,” she says.
“Five?” he asks.
Sophia turns. I give her the thumbs up, Aiden nods, Veenure makes the let’s wrap this up gesture and Chrono looks nervous.
“I really like my hammers,” he says under his breath.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him softly. “We have a little surprise for these Skullcandy fruit bats. You gotta trust me here, Chrono.”
He sighs. “Yeah,” he finally says, “I do.”
The Big Kahuna of the Skullitor set laughs a credible supervillain laugh. “Show me what you’re prepared to lose, losers.”
“My Robe of Illusion,” says Sophia.
“My Maxwell Silver Hammers.” Chrono grimaces.
“My Invisible Blade,” says Aiden.
“Wait, you didn’t tell me you had that!”
I can tell by the way his mask shifts that he is grinning. “You wouldn’t have seen it anyway.”
Veenure takes a deep breath, “My Schoolboy Q Hat.”
“Quantum?” Sophia asks.
“Well,” I say as I scan all four Reapers. “If this is how it’s gonna play out, this is how it’s gonna play out. I’m putting my favorite, most prized possession on the line.” I brandish item 574, Mirror’s necklace.
“Ooh – a necklace? How about you throw in your tutu, tiara and fairy wand?” the head Reaper guffaws.
“Not just any necklace – this necklace calls a fierce mirrored dragon. She’s going to be pissed that I pawned her off to a sorry bunch of bedwetting nose-pickers like yourselves, but she’ll listen to whoever holds this necklace.”
The head Reaper looks to his leather-clad B&D compadres. The female of the group glances to her scissor blade and back to the Shao Kahn incarnate. Finally, she nods.
“Then it is settled,” Sophia says. “Let’s get started.”
A golden button appears in front of me, asking if I accept the wager on behalf of the Knights.
Chapter Sixteen
Susie Scissorswords is up first. She’s faster than a speeding bullet and more powerful than a locomotive as she comes down hard on Aiden, who actually takes a bit of damage for once. She’s up in the air again, getting her Olga Korbut on for just a moment before she taps Aiden again, this time for even more damage than before.
Aiden grunts; his life bar takes a 25% dip. The look on his face – even with his mask on – is something I’ve seen before. If this were The Loop, he would have finished her off before she could get her first strike in. Damn the boundaries of this world, damn them to hell.
“The scissor blade is mine,” he spits. “Once we win.”
Office Depot on attack – the Reaper with the stapler hands unloads a few clips in Sophia’s direction. They grow to horseshoe size, and Sophia dodges by levitating out of their way. The flying staples clear her, only to boomerang just past her and fly in for another attack. One hits, but she’s able to dodge the rest.
The reaper with the boxing gloves shaped like cat heads is up next. He pumps his fists, punches his gloves together over his Skeletor mask, which creates a giant tidal wave of energy that has a feline shape. It strikes all of us except Veenure, who has magic protection via her schoolboy hat.
Rocket: Damn! They are kicking your asses!
Me: Thanks for the play-by-play, kid. Where’s Frances? Get her on the horn.
Rocket: There isn’t a horn.
Sophia: Rocket, this is no time for your sophomoric word-play.
Rocket: Yes, ma’am.
Me: That’s right!
I don’t have the chance to giggle at the way Sophia the ballbuster shuts him off – the reaper with the big ass sword steps up, drops to a ready position and lifts the sword over his shoulder. A green fizzle of energy rolls down his shoulders and to his hands. He finishes, steps back.
“Charging?” I ask.
Sophia says, “We’re toast next round unless we finish him off now.”
“Lemme handle it,” I say as I raise my Golden Goosinator. This one is really going to sting, and the four shitbirds in front of us have no clue as to how bad it’s going to be.
Enough talk. I raise my Envenomed Golden Goosinator at the Big Sworded Bub. The liquid blasts from the nozzle in a high pressure stream and splatters The Hedgehog-and-his-Sword and his butt-buddy Edward Staplehands. The hack itself zaps t
hem with a dose of Doc’s patented Reaper Remover, and they’re forcibly logged out and we’ve got their real world location – Hah! A win-win courtesy of a joint weapons venture between two worlds.
Their weapons fall to the ground, booty ready to be taken.
Veenure smiles and cocks an eyebrow. “Nice!”
Sophia pirouettes with one finger above her head. Cherry blossoms curl in the air, extending from her fingertips. They cover her body and disappear at the blink of an eye.
“Crap,” she says, floating back down, “it didn’t work.”
Veenure stares in awe at Sophia. “You can cast Seppuku?”
“I recently learned it,” she explains. “Some good that did me. Still not at the level I need to be to make it take.”
“My turn.” Aiden retrieves his Slice Bang from his list. He drops to one knee and lays the flat of the blade across his free hand. Two black clouds appear in the sky above the combat area.
“This a Soulcalibur move?”
As always, Veenure is quick to reply. “He’s casting Rainbow Sword.”
The two magical black clouds part and an enormous, Somewhere Over The-type rainbow arches down and zaps Aiden’s sword with all kinds of fizzley rainbow goodness. With that, he raises the Slice Bang over his head and leaps, the rainbow trailing at the end of his blade. Taste the Rainbow! He smites the Reaper broad with such force that a tiny unicorn shoots out of her ass as she is crushed into nothingness.
Her Scissorswords fall to the ground like discarded lucky charms.
One Reaper left, and two of our guys still haven’t had an at-bat. Colonel Catclops looks like he’ll need a change of pants soon, and I’m not surprised – Tournament AI won’t let him log out; he’ll have to suck up anything we dish out until he rolls over and dies.
I can’t resist. “Not so tough now, are ya, pussy-boy?”
Rocket: Holy double entendre, Q-Man!
“I got something I want to try.” Chrono the blacksmith lays one of his fancy silver hammers at his feet, and the other expands until it’s twice as large as a sledge hammer (which, of course, I have in my list – item 391).
The Feedback Loop (Books 4-6): Sci-fi LitRPG Series (The Feedback Loop Box Set Book 2) Page 16
