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View Full Version : Dr. David MacBeth (by Alphaeus) vs Dracustos (by GeneratorRexDragon)



Alphaeus
05-04-2016, 02:37 PM
The battle between man and beast.

Behold the man! Dr. David MacBeth (http://forums.stickpage.com/showthread.php?98529-Dr-David-MacBeth)

And now, the beast: Dracustos the Draconian (http://forums.stickpage.com/showthread.php?83043-Dracustos-the-Draconian)


I will also request that all who vote leave CnC, if at all possible (obviously if you have tons of work IRL, I'm not going to hunt you down...or will I?).

A Dream and a Dragon (Alphaeus's battle) (https://docs.google.com/document/d/1V44wa40AaLzjzwEvwmJ8ByJ919OM4x1hj0aLOMMAxGA/edit?usp=sharing)

The explosion numbed his ears and sent a rain of loose soil shimmying down between the cracks in the rough beams of maple that formed the ceiling of his underground chamber. Fortunately, experience had taught him to be quicker than gravity, and he flipped a blood-stained blanket over his patient before the dirt could contaminate the wounds more than they already were.



With a snap of his wrists, he flung the earth off of the blanket, and whipped the covering itself back onto his side table. The poor fellow on the table was probably just eighteen. Shrapnel from a landmine had torn away most of his legs, but Dr. MacBeth was doing what he could to put the pieces back together. He had done these operations before, with patients who had suffered accidents at West Virginia coal mines, but those had been done at one of the most well equipped and cutting-edge hospitals in the world. In addition, whole swarms of nurses, doctors, and other specialists were at his command. Even there, it had taken nearly three days to do this work. Now, he was having to race the Axis army, with only occasionally help from Red Cross nurses, in a side-room off a French trench. Still, he was an Idealist, and border-lined on obsessive-compulsive: he would do this surgery right, not just resort to the logical amputation like all other doctors would.



As a wearied and soiled brunette in white garb rushed in the door, he fired a quick, yet calm, command in French. “I need you to take an IV and IV bag. Go to Corporal Nicolas Louis. Get him to give as much blood as he can spare. This young man is fortunate to have someone healthy nearby who has the same blood-type as him.”



With a respectful “Oui, Monsieur,” she retrieved the supplies and vanished as quickly as she had come.



David returned his attention to the surgery at hand. He ground his teeth in frustration. No! It is not hopeless! I can still save his life, if I just work a little faster!



He materialized his two Reflections. They were certainly not his ideal aides, but they were better than nothing. He barked short commands to them, allowing to focus on the process of reassembling a quarter of a man’s body.



Five hours later, and the work was done. Though his legs were a mess of stitches, the soldier would walk again, without trouble. David knew that his labors had not only saved a life but also kept a man from permanent disfigurement.



As a pair medics carried the man out of his impromptu operating room, he heaved a sigh of relief and satisfaction. And then a shell hit the trench square on.



Adrenaline dragged him out of the murky world of unconsciousness back into life. A ringing sound echoed in his head as he pushed aside rubble. All other sounds were faint, and far off, as he was in some sort of insulated bubble. His eyes struggled to refocus on the world around him. Slowly, he gained his balance and rose to his feet, shakily. His Reflections appeared on either side to steady him. This was not a conscious choice on his part, but an automatic response to when he could not help himself.



He cast his eyes down to the ground and saw the medics – and his patient. All of them were barely recognizable as human. All were dead. All his work was lost. A slow rage rose in his chest as his mind and senses caught up to reality. He pressed his mouth into a grim line, and fished through the piles of debris for his gun. The stock – already heavily marred with hard use – was further gouged by this impact. Still, its accurate and lethal mechanisms of the Winchester ’73 were unharmed.



Snatching it up, he silently climbed the embankment that formed the front of the trench, his leather boots becoming soiled with the blood of the man who he had so desired to save.



As he breached the top with his Reflections, each bearing a rifle of their own, he heard the sing of bullets rushing past his ears, and saw the little clouds of dust they raised as they bit into the dry, barren dirt. Several of them thwacked into his duplicates, but merely fell harmlessly to the ground. He motioned these safeguards of himself in front of him, and began progressing towards the war-torn village as quickly as he could. Once he could spot his attackers, he systematically felled them until his little corner of hell was clear from enemy gunners.



When he reached the town, he moved silently through the blasted streets. The sound of gunfire, frenzied orders, and heavy machinery had become something he could tune out entirely. A pitiful wail was what caught his attention. The streets were littered with dead – apparently his enemies had been suffering worse than his own lines had – but the sound did not come from there. He cautiously worked his way into one of the homes. The sound of someone shifting in a chair above his head made him freeze. After ordering his Reflections to guard the front door, he moved surreptitiously up the splintered wooden stairwell.



Heart beating in his chest, he slipped his rifle into a sheath he had stitched onto the back of his uniform, drew a pair of knives from his belt, and lunged onto the landing with a roar of anger. The first two soldiers were felled before a sound of alarm could sound from their lips. The third appeared to be a high ranking officer of some sort, and gave a brief moment of struggle. Decades of strenuous exercise had honed David’s muscles to perfection, however, and this battle-worn veteran did not last long.



He clenched and unclenched his hands on the handles of the bloody knives, disgusted that he had killed when he professed to heal, yet at the same time feeling justified. The cry that had drawn him in the first place sounded again from the next room.



As he stepped into the shadows, sheathed his blades and wept. His tears dripped down the shattered doorposts, washing away the dust of turmoil and revealing a pristine blue paint underneath. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the hideous scene.



A young girl – perhaps twelve – was sitting between the mutilated bodies of her parents. In her arms was the form of a lifeless baby, a distinctive dark circle dripping blood from one side of its precious head. She was rhythmically rocking back and forth, weeping uncontrollably. Her own garments were torn and stained a dark rusty brown, barely providing her protection from the chill that laced the air of the bleak, cloudy day. She totally ignored his presence, as if it mattered not to her what human now entered the room. He decided to address her in English, since that would likely be associated with the Allies.



“Come, child. I am here to help you.”



She looked up at him, and the expression of pain and hopelessness on her face crushed his heart. Though she stopped rocking, she did not move.



He walked over to her and scooped her fragile form up in his arms. She stared blankly at him, her body limp, as if all the spirit of life had left nothing but a shell of a human. A short, low whistle brought his Reflections running. His voice was gravelly with emotion, and born a dark cloud of wrath, yet it still retained the calm he had trained into it as a doctor.



“Kill every living soul in this village. Do not let one survive. Return when you are done with the cleansing of this filth.”



They left without remark.



He carried the girl over to one corner of the room. A small window looked into a lone dogwood. It had dared to sprout such a profusion of unspoiled white blossoms that the entire dismal world outside was blocked from view. A wren was tending a nest in one of the branches nearest them. Shifting her to one arm, he flipped over a worn yellow rocking chair that had been tossed into a corner and settled down into it, sheltering her within his lithe arms. As he rocked, he sang. His voice was clear, and despite being soft, bore a defiant strength.



“Hush now baby don't you cry

Rest your wings my butterfly

Peace will come to you in time

And I will sing this lullaby



No, though I must leave, my child

But I would stay here by your side

And if you wake before I'm gone

Remember this sweet lullaby



And all love through darkness

Don't you ever stop believing

With love forlorn

With love you'll find your way

My love



The world has turned the day to dark

I leave this night with heavy heart

When I return to dry your eyes

I will send this lullaby



Yes I will send this lullaby”

(Josh Groban’s Lullaby (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PybNtnfL7sw))



As he sang, the child seemed to feed off of this compassion, and nestled into his chest, curling into a tiny ball. One feeble arm slipped around his neck as the sounds of the chaos brought by his Reflections raged outside. A smile of deep seated joy spread across his face.



“Peace I give to you: my peace I bring to you. Though a thousand may fall dead beside you, and ten thousand at your right hand, no harm shall come to you. I will lead you to still waters, and have you lie down in green pastures. Yes, child, I will restore your soul.”



They sat there, he and the forgotten youth, until his Reflections returned, bloody yet unharmed. They spoke in unison.



“Your will is done.”



He nodded slowly. The world going to change. Pleasure and amusement were no longer to be the driving forces of his life. He had the power to work his will upon the globe, and would do so, one life at a time. All he could he would win to the cause of peace and justice. Resistance would be met with patients, but unwavering determination. Defiance he would eradicate, even if it meant doing so with his own two hands, or his two Reflections. He stood, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, a silent plea for him not to let go.



Standing, he dismissed the Reflections, and settled the weight of the girl in his arms. His stride was firm, yet dignified. His gaze kind, yet combative. He whispered three words, not truly to the girl, but to the world at large.



“It. Is. Finished.”





As those words rung through his mind, the memory faded, as it always did. He might have called it a bad dream, this continual haunting of the most bloody time of his past, but the visions came as often during his waking hours as they did during sleep. The years had failed to take away their edge, so he had learned to use their power to harden his resolve and cement his goals. He sighed as his gaze refocused on the mirror. The reflection it gave showed a man unchanged by the decades that had passed since that moment. That had been the pivotal instant of his life, even more than the accident that had given him his strange powers.



This was a part of his morning routine, a way to keep his mind attuned to the goals for which he strived, and keep that memory alive and thriving.



Opening the door to his suite on the third floor of his brick building, he took the stairwell down to his clinic on the ground floor. Valera was the first person he saw.



“Good morning. How are our patients today?”



When she saw him, her usual severe countenance softened into a kind expression that made one realize that this unadorned woman was truly a natural beauty. “Dr. MacBeth, it is indeed a good morning. None of the patients are having any issues. Well, nothing that is not normal for them. Lily had something she wanted to tell you, though, so you might want to go to the front desk office before you do your rounds. I’m nearly done with mine, so I will have breakfast for us ready by seven-thirty, as usual.”



“Wonderful. Well, I’ll go check with Lily now.”



He swept off down the hallway lined with stamped gold wallpaper and stepped into the alcove behind the front desk. Lily was sitting with her back to him, working over the day planner on the computer.



“Miss Belladonna?”



She swiveled in her mahogany desk chair to face him. Her face showed a mix of confusion and concern. As she rose and stepped into the alcove with him. “I’m so glad you’re here, Doctor! There is something in the lobby that says it has an appointment with you. I told him that he had to wait, but he says that this needs to be tended to immediately.”



David gave a condescending smile and raised an eyebrow. “Something? Could you be a bit more specific?”



Lily cast a glance over her shoulder and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s a…dragon. Kinda. A big, blue dragon-man. With wings.”



He tried to remember where he had left his rifle. It was probably still upstairs. All of his chemicals were still in his jacket pocket, however, and his knives were on him as well. Things could not go too wrong. Standing up straight, he rounded the corner into the lobby. His gaze landed on a massive creature doing its best to look natural, in the midst of a group of frightened humans.



“Excuse me, sir, but my secretary tells me that you have business with me. Now, while I am not averse to dealing with a draconian, I would request that for the sake of others in this room we take our discussion outside.”



The draconian’s face registered a level of surprised at being addressed so flatly, but shrugged and rose to follow Dr. MacBeth out the door and around the side of his building into the driveway.

It towered over him by nearly two feet, and its size was dramatically accented by the wings that sprouted from its back.



“I’m Dracustos. Your supposed to be battling me today. This is your first RHG battle, according to the information sheet, so I figured I should give you a chance at a fair fight.”



David nodded slowly, then began to slowly walk away. “Ahhh. I see. I wonder why I did not receive notice of this – perhaps I did, and we merely missed it. The telephones have just been connected last evening, and I do not always answer my private phone. We will begin after breakfast. Speaking of which, have you had any?”





Dracustos was at a loss. Battles were typically…battles. But he had been here for nearly an hour since meeting Dr. MacBeth, and was being treated quite hospitably, but not had one ounce of conflict. The doctor had asserted that they would eat breakfast, and Dracustos had been seated at a table with David, his secretary, and his nurse. After breakfast, David had relegated him to the rooftop while he did his morning rounds. The weather was gorgeous, so he did not particularly mind, but still…this man seemed a bit nonchalant about something that could easily end in death. Then again, he was a doctor, so maybe that did not worry him. The information section on his mysterious ability called “Triplexia” was entirely empty. Something could be up his sleeve.



When David returned to the rooftop, he was toting a heavily worn rifle. It appeared to be an antique, and Dracustos doubted that this man had even used it. “I figured we would head over to the old train-yard down the street. You can fit in my car if you want…it’s spacious enough, or would you prefer to fly?”



Dracustos eyed his opponent’s smiling face. “You do realize this is dangerous, don’t you? I fight fairly, so you don’t need to worry about that, but still – this is an actual battle, not just a friendly sparring match. Are you sure you’re up to this sort of thing?”



David’s smile twisted a bit, giving it a slight hint of the appearance of a sneer. “Oh of course. While I’ve never had the honor of fighting a draconian, I doubt that it will be too much trouble. I learn quickly.”



The draconian frowned, but again remained silent. This guy was either exceptionally stupid, or exceptionally confident. Either way, this battle was not going to be particularly straight forward. He followed the doctor to his vehicle while puzzling this question. To his surprise, he could indeed fit into the passenger seat with minimal discomfort. The interior was tasteful, but nevertheless luxuriously designed. They road in silence, the surround sound radio exuding a vivacious classical tune.



As they pulled into the vacant lot adjoining the train-yard, Dracustos realized that David had decided for himself where the fight was going to be, without consulting him or the RHG. Perhaps there was more to this fellow than meets the eye.



They walked side by side until they were a good distance away from the rest of the town, then David turned to face Dracustos.



“Well, are you ready for out little match?”



Dracustos flexed his hands. “Okay. But I still think that you –”



He stopped in mid-sentence as the doctor whipped the rifle off of his back and fired with astounding speed. Giving a mighty leap to one side, he barely managed to escape the fireball that exploded behind him where the bullet hit an overturned railcar. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and gave a flap of his wings, jumping into the air as another bullet smacked into the ground where he had just been, sending a cloud of dirt and gravel flying as it exploded.



Explosive rounds. I’m guessing that this guy was not being stupid.





It was David’s turn to have to dodge as his opponent, characteristically, breathed fire at him. Somersaulting to his right, he came up from this maneuver with another well-aimed rifle shot. This time, the draconian was not quite fast enough, and the bullet dove into one of the spreading blue wings and exploded, tearing the surrounding membrane and bones to shreds.



This brought forth a snarl from the beast, and as it nimbly landed, it drew a pair of long swords from its back and charged.



David ratcheted another round into the rifle’s chamber, but the range was too close to risk a shot, since the explosion could quite possibly affect him as well. He readied himself and took a stance as if he was going to try to use his rifle to block the swords, but just as Dracustos swung them downwards, David let himself collapse to the ground, at the same time driving the butt of his Winchester into the bottom right side of the draconian’s ribcage. A sweep of his opponent’s tail sent him tumbling into a pile of railroad ties. The impact made him smash the back of his head onto one of the edges of the wooden beams, dazing him for a second. He forced himself back up onto his feet, and smiled.



He had hit Dracustos’ liver, and now the effects were showing. A “liver-shot” took several seconds to give results, but could easily cause unconsciousness. A layer of hardened scales was probably enough to absorb most of the impact on Dracustos, but he was still clearly struggling to keep his vision clear and maintain his balance. He fired at the beast’s feet, letting the explosion flip it backwards into the remnants of a rusted tanker car.



“I’m not going to shoot a dazed dragon, so you might as well wake up.”





Wake up Dracustos did. Horns sprouted from his head as he became Feral. With a roar that made the railroad spikes rattle, he charged the doctor. He swiftly dodged from side to side as explosive bullets zipped through the air where he had just been. After several shots, he watched David return the rifle to his back and flex his hands. Dracustos belched forth more fire as he charged, but the doctor merely dove to the side and rolled. Before the man could get to his feet again, he rammed his horns into…the dirt.



The man had shifted just enough to be missed by the blow, and now was placing his full weight upon the draconian’s head. Momentum swung Dracustos’ feet up over his head until he was lying on his back with the doctor under him. He felt something cold and hard slip between his scales and into his right shoulder. With a growl he flipped himself upright, but the doctor remained on his back, driving down with his knife again and again with surgical precision. No matter how he twisted his arms, legs, or tail, the man remained just out of reach. Dropping to his quadruped stance, he spun violently, flinging David off. Nevertheless, the man’s iron grip remained locked onto the base of his left wing, and though he was now hanging under Dracustos, he managed to drive the blade into the same spot one last time before letting himself fall to the ground and sheathing his knife. Dracustos sent him flying through the dry beams of a water tower and into a gravel pile, but knew that this man’s knives had made his right arm useless.



Seeing that his opponent did not move, he took a moment to try to focus his thoughts, and regain full control of himself.





David mentally checked his body. Though nothing was broken, he could tell that his bones were rife with fractures. Any extra stress, and those would give way – leaving him in a full body cast for weeks. He was fortunate that the structure was old and wooden, otherwise he would have fared far worse against steel beams. He struggled to push away the pieces of wood from atop his body without hurting himself. His head throbbed, and he felt strangely detached from the moment. He noticed the sky had become grey with a thin blanket of rain-sodden clouds. As he stood, the scene from the War flashed through his mind again. He closed his eyes and grimaced. No. Things were different this time. He was in control. His domination over the death and chaos of this world had begun that day, and had never ceased to this very moment. Wounds on his body mattered not.



Dracustos soon blocked his view of the sky, dual swords fused into one broad blade he was pointing at David’s throat with his left hand. The draconian was dripping blood from a number of wounds, and his right arm hung limp by his side. It spoke with a solemn, level voice.



“You gave a good fight, but I have the advantage now. I suggest you surrender.”



A placid expression washed over David’s face. “You would have no power over me were it not given to you.” He locked eyes with Dracustos as his smile broadened. “Hold your fire.”



The confusion showed on Dracustos’ face. “Fire? Heh, I could use that if I wanted to, but unless you haven’t noticed, this is a sword at your throat, not a gun.”



His confusion was alleviated by feel of a barrel of a rifle pressed against his back, and a pair of hands jerking his sword arm to the side. David chuckled as he watched his opponent’s eyes widen as he realized that these two newcomers were duplicates of Dr. MacBeth. He decided to offer an explanation – and an announcement of his victory.



“In a one versus one battle, the odds are always in my favor. These are my Reflections, my dear dragon. They don’t have a conscience, so I do not suggest testing their patience. Now that the win is mine, I suggest you sheath your swords, and we head back to my clinic. I need to patch myself up, and then I’ll run you through surgery.”





Dracustos sheathed his swords and dropped his head. “Alright. You win.” As the Reflections, as David called them, stepped away and picked up the doctor, he reached up to massage his wounded shoulder and tattered wing.



As they walked back to the car – the four of them – Dracustos allowed himself to laugh, despite the pain he was feeling. “You know, you have a pretty good business going. You get to inflict wounds in battle, and then take your opponents back to your own clinic for treatment.”



David grimaced as his Reflections slipped him into his driver’s seat and buckled him in before vanishing. “Oh, this isn’t even the beginning of my ‘business,’ Dracustos. You can’t begin to know the extent of my ‘business.’ I will tell you one thing, though – it started long before I founded this clinic, and extends far beyond the borders of this city.”



GeneratorRexDragon's Battle (https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eAo0Y2YY9OTf7yHctyv3c69k-zAU-sWf6cuHBM_D5es/edit)

Being in Stickpage City reminded me of why I didn’t want to live in places like this. All the sounds and smells had me constantly distracted, and being surrounded by this many people made me uneasy. Most passers cast me a glance, brows furrowed in question, then continued about their business. Others gave me a look like I was their sworn enemy, probably because I was walking around with swords, and it made me even more unsettled.


My biggest concern about being in the middle of a city was the danger it posed to everyone around me. I know Feral doesn’t like humans, though for what reason I haven’t figured out yet. If he were to come out…


I shook my head. Best not to dwell on it. Besides, it’s not like I’ll be in the middle of the city; the battle is supposed to be on the outskirts, in one of the many parks that dotted the area. I wasn’t planning on using the extra strength from that form either. As far as I could tell, this Macbeth was only human, save for his slowed aging. Technically he was already older than me, but I myself, being a halfbreed, am capable of living for hundreds of years. I chuckled to myself, wondering who will outlive who.

------------



It was more comfortable in the park, as it wasn’t as crowded as the streets. It wasn’t time for my battle, so I just wandered around, exploring the area and occasionally interacting with people.


The sound of music found its way to my ears. I soon spotted the source: a dark-skinned man, sitting on the wall of a fountain as he plucked at the cords of a guitar. As I got closer I noticed a hat on the ground in front of him with a few coins and dollars inside.


Another guitar lay against the wall next to him and I tilted my head in interest, then grinned at a thought. I approached the man, making sure to drop a few dollars into his hat as I passed it.


“Mind if I join you?” I asked, gesturing at the instrument. The man gave a kind smile and offered the spare.


“Not at all, my brother, not at all.” Taking up the guitar, I sat next to him and messed with a few cords before strumming a calming tune. The man listened for a moment before joining in, and together we played a lovely song. We drew in a crowd, and soon afterward people worked up the courage to approach and drop money into the man’s hat.


The next few hours were spent playing music and talking with the man, whom I soon discovered was named Frank. Things went bad for him after his divorce, but he was still enjoying life as if nothing happened.


The sun was just beginning to set. There was a screech, and I looked up at one of the intercoms mounted on the park lights.


“Attention: all residents not involved in this afternoon’s battle need to vacate the premises. Please exit the park.” The announcement repeated a couple times before going quiet. Frank stood.


“Welp, we should get going,” he said, brushing off his pants. I remained seated.


“Sorry, I’m not going anywhere,” I replied. He looked up.


“Oh?” He stared at me for a second, his eyes shifting to my weapons. “Oh. Well then...” I offered his instrument back as he strapped the other around his shoulder. “I hope we meet again, friend.” He took the other guitar, gathered his hat, and, after a nod of farewell, left.


A few minutes passed before I moved to the ground to lean against the fountain wall, crossing my arms and closing my eyes as I waited for my opponent. After a moment I realized something; that man was the first person outside my hometown to call me friend.

------------


The sun was just beginning to duck below the tall buildings. My ears twitched forward, picking up the heavy footsteps of boots, and my nose caught the man’s scent. As he got closer there was a nagging at the back of my head; there was something else about him I didn’t know about. I didn’t read the “abilities” part of his profile, a bad habit of mine when it comes to battles. But it helps add to the challenge and excitement, even if it might get me in a pickle.


I raised my head to look over my challenger, and the only word I could find to describe him was “anime”. Tall and lean, his white suit decorated with red shoulder patterns and bordered with something glittery. My draconic senses could smell the shiny material: gold.


I noticed a strap going across his waist, soon recognising it belonged to the sheath of a katana.


“Apologies for being late,” MacBeth said, crossing his arms and giving circular wave of his hand. “I got caught up in my work and lost track of the time.”


“It’s fine. But now that you’re here...” a long shlick sounded as I drew a sword, “maybe we could get started?”


“Well of course.” The doctor drew his own weapon, doing a sort of “classic” samurai pose. A cheeky grin found its way onto my lips as I gave my sword a twirl, then charged forward with a side swing. He blocked it and was knocked to the left, nearly losing his footing. He ducked under my next swing and delivered one of his own that was blocked. I swiped at him again, and he simply hopped back. I turned, throwing my tail at the man. He managed to jump over, but had no time to react to my fist and was thrown to the concrete. I paused my attack for a moment to let him get up.


“Are you starting to regret going toe-to-toe with me?” I inquired. Macbeth wiped a drop of blood from his split lip and grinned.


“On the contrary, this is quite thrilling. Though, I won’t refuse a helping hand.” I tilted my head in question, then a tingle ran up my spine. I turned to find two other men, each with their own katana. Both looked exactly like the doctor.


“Oh, a cloner eh? This should be fun.”


“Indeed.” He signaled at the duplicates, and they came charging in. I blocked the attack of one while drawing my other sword in time to deflect the other. I rotated, bringing one weapon down on a clone and swinging my tail at the other, knocking it back as the other toppled from my blow. Something came in from the corner of my eye, and I jumped over the incoming blade. I ducked under another swing as I landed, then headbutted Macbeth as I came back up. Before he could hit the ground, I sheathed a sword and grabbed the collar of his shirt. He was quite dazed from my thick skull.


“It was fun while it lasted,” I said, sheathing my other sword, “even though it was short.” I drew back my fist for a knockout, but my sixth sense reminded me he wasn’t the only one I was fighting.


One of the clones grabbed my arm to keep me from further harming Dr. Macbeth. I dropped the man to deal with it, but as I turned there was a sharp sting in my side as the other tried to run me through. I turned back, swinging one clone into the other. They flew off the path and landed in the grass, then quickly got back to their feet. Movement was sensed to my backside and I turned, deflecting the doctor’s blade with my claws. The next swing was avoided with a hop, with which I delivered a hearty kick to his chest, sending him back to the pavement.


I was tackled by the duplicates. My head smacked the hard surface of the pathway, sending me into a short daze.


“Just knock him out,” Macbeth ordered as I shook my head clear. I tried pushing one off, but the other got in the way as they tried to hold me down. Aggravation came quick, and finally I blasted one with fire. It stumbled back and I shoved the other off, but as I was getting to my feet one of them used the hilt of their sword and bashed it against the back of my head.

------------


Dr. Macbeth got to his feet, brushing some dirt off his coat. After casting a glance at his duplicates they vanished, and he picked up his katana.


“It was short indeed,” he sighed, sheathing the weapon. He turned to leave, then paused at a growl. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Draconian getting back up. But he was different now, spikes running down his spine and horns protruding from his skull.


“Not done yet, are you?” The creature turned his head, brows furrowed in anger, a fierce snarl coming from his toothy maw. “Oh dear…” he mumbled, realizing what he’d done. He reached for the sword, but before he could remove it from its sheath the halfbreed spat fire, burning his hand. Ignoring the pain, the doctor frantically patted out the flames that danced on his clothes. He was suddenly knocked back, then a sharp pain shot up his leg as Dracustos sank his teeth into the man’s flesh. He swung MacBeth, throwing the doctor against a tree.


The man ducked, narrowly avoiding the halfbreed’s fire. He summoned his duplicates again.


“Keep him busy!” he commanded. The two false doctors silently obeyed as MacBeth pulled a small case from his coat. He quickly opened it, revealing the syringe and small bottle.


Good thing I brought a sedative, he thought, preparing the needle for use. There was a roar, then something flew past him; one of his clones, slamming into the fountain and breaking its middle structure. MacBeth pointed to the Draconian, shouting, “Pin him down!”


The doctor rushed in to help. Drawing his sword, he ducked under a swipe and moved behind the beast. He gave a precise swing, cutting into Draco’s leg just above the ankle. The firebreather collapsed with an angry roar, but was soon back on his feet. MacBeth drew back and waited, staying close by but out of the creature’s reach. He saw his chance when one of the clones grabbed Draco’s horns and wrestled him to the ground as if he were a bull. The man rushed in, sticking the needle into the beast’s neck. But he didn’t get to finish.


Dracustos retaliated with a roar, throwing the duplicate off his horns and then turning them to MacBeth. The doctor flew through the air, landing in the fountain. The cool water was refreshing… and turning red.


Placing an arm over the gash that ran down his body, MacBeth crawled out of the water. He glanced at his opponent. The half-dragon was struggling to stay up, until finally he lay down.

------------


“Ngh…” I propped myself up on an elbow, rubbing my aching head. An intense sting caught my attention. As I moved to inspect the injury I felt something in my skin. I reached for the object and pulled out a syringe, its contents half empty. I tossed it aside and tried getting up, but my leg wound mixed with the drowsiness caused me to go back down. Suddenly a thought hit me: where’s the doctor?


I spotted him lying against the cracked fountain wall, his blood gathering in a pool below him, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. At least he was still alive. I managed to make my way to him and surveyed the damage. The most noticeable wound was a deep cut that ran from his abdomen to his chest. A disappointed sigh came from my lungs, and was surprised when MacBeth raised his head.


“You’re still awake?” I mumbled.


“I could ask the same of you,” he replied quietly. A trail of blood ran down from his mouth. I furrowed my brow in determination.


“Apologies in advance,” I said, bringing forth my fire. The doctor opened his mouth to say something, but it turned to a shout when I burned his bleeding gash.


“Agh- dammit! A little more warning next time?”


“Sorry.”


“...Me too.” MacBeth looked past me and gave some gesture, then a sharp pain shot across my neck. I moved to shove the clone back, but it vanished. With an aggravated snort I removed the needle.


“The hell was that about?” I asked. I could already feel the sedative taking hold.


“Just making sure... you don’t lose it again…” MacBeth answered, drifting into unconsciousness. I myself was losing my own battle to stay awake, and eventually I fell over in a deep sleep.

------------


When I woke I found myself in a bed. The room was unfamiliar; I was expecting to be in the RHG hospital, but this wasn’t it.


A door to my left opened, and MacBeth peeked in.


“Ah, you’re finally awake.” He limped inside, closing the door behind him. I sat up, wincing at the pain in my ribs. “You were out for quite a while. My fault though; that was a strong sedative.” I looked him over, somewhat surprised he was up and moving.


“Where am I?”


“My clinic.” He took a seat in a chair next to my bed. “You know, I probably would’ve bled out if you hadn’t done what you did.” I was silent for a moment, looking at the foot of the bed.


“I never intended on killing you in the first place. Hell, you weren’t even supposed to meet the other guy.”


“Well, that was also my fault. But it gave me a challenge.” I turned my gaze to the man. He was grinning.


“You may not realize it, but you pretty much had a brush with death just being near me while I’m like that. You’re lucky I didn’t stay that way.” There was a moment of silence before the doctor stood.


“In any case, I took the liberty of fixing up your leg and whatnot. Consider it my thanks.” He made his way to the door, opened it, and paused. “Feel free to leave whenever you can walk.” The door closed. I sat in silence for a moment before swinging my legs over the bed. Thick bandages covered my ankle. I discovered why they were so stiff when I tried to stand: he had cut my Achilles tendon in the battle. It was near impossible to properly move my foot, and any pressure was painful.

I sat back down. Guess I’ll be here for a while.

Kamiroo Wolf
05-05-2016, 10:14 AM
Both were great pieces of work! I'm going to vote for alphaeus, however, due to his story having just a bit more meat to it.

Either way, the effort each of you has put in is greatly appreciated! Good stuff

Cassandra
05-05-2016, 06:26 PM
I voted for Alphaeus! His story was really well-written and fun to read. GeneratorRexDragon had a good story too, but overall I think the Doctor is victorious this time.

You should both write your own novels. Both of your stories are really good!


Cassandra: "Too bad Dr. Macbeth's abilities are so complex. I could have made him fight you."
Vamprina: "Pfft. He wouldn't stand a chance. He is human after all."
Cassandra: "He's a talented human. Oh, and his handler...Alphaeus, he's really good at writing."
Vamprina: "So? You're good at writing too."
Cassandra: "Well...I..."
Vamprina: "I can take him. In fact, I can take his head off. Just let me go... please!"
Cassandra: "I don't know. I'll have to think about it."
Vamprina: "So that's a yes?"
Cassandra: "It's a maybe. And you're not allowed to kill him."
Vamprina: "Hey...my secret skill just revives them if I 'accidentally' get carried away."
Cassandra: "What if it doesn't work?"
Vamprina: "It always works."
Cassandra: "It's a relatively new skill though. You weren't born with it. I just added it recently."
Vamprina: "So what?"
Cassandra: "If it doesn't work, then the authorities would probably go after you, or me."
Vamprina: "I'm not afraid of the authorities. They'd never be able to find me. You on the other hand...can handle yourself. If you can't, I'll always be around to sever some spines for you."
Cassandra: "There will be NO spine severing. Don't kill him. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that would take your life anyway."
Vamprina: "If you insist."

(there is a short silence)

Vamprina: "So am I fighting him?"
Cassandra: "Not yet Vamprina. Not now..."

Cruel
05-06-2016, 04:18 PM
I voted for Alphaeus! His story was really well-written and fun to read. GeneratorRexDragon had a good story too, but overall I think the Doctor is victorious this time.

You should both write your own novels. Both of your stories are really good!


Cassandra: "Too bad Dr. Macbeth's abilities are so complex. I could have made him fight you."
Vamprina: "Pfft. He wouldn't stand a chance. He is human after all."
Cassandra: "He's a talented human. Oh, and his handler...Alphaeus, he's really good at writing."
Vamprina: "So? You're good at writing too."
Cassandra: "Well...I..."
Vamprina: "I can take him. In fact, I can take his head off. Just let me go... please!"
Cassandra: "I don't know. I'll have to think about it."
Vamprina: "So that's a yes?"
Cassandra: "It's a maybe. And you're not allowed to kill him."
Vamprina: "Hey...my secret skill just revives them if I 'accidentally' get carried away."
Cassandra: "What if it doesn't work?"
Vamprina: "It always works."
Cassandra: "It's a relatively new skill though. You weren't born with it. I just added it recently."
Vamprina: "So what?"
Cassandra: "If it doesn't work, then the authorities would probably go after you, or me."
Vamprina: "I'm not afraid of the authorities. They'd never be able to find me. You on the other hand...can handle yourself. If you can't, I'll always be around to sever some spines for you."
Cassandra: "There will be NO spine severing. Don't kill him. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that would take your life anyway."
Vamprina: "If you insist."

(there is a short silence)

Vamprina: "So am I fighting him?"
Cassandra: "Not yet Vamprina. Not now..."


I swear you have Schizophrenia and just write what happens in your head.

Cassandra
05-08-2016, 04:35 PM
Ahaha is that a compliment dear Cruel?

Cruel
05-08-2016, 05:15 PM
Ahaha is that a compliment dear Cruel?

Sure! ;)

Quick Comment for the writers, both were awesome reads, but I went with Alph due to a little more meat to the story.

Alphaeus
05-09-2016, 02:06 PM
I voted for Alphaeus! His story was really well-written and fun to read. GeneratorRexDragon had a good story too, but overall I think the Doctor is victorious this time.

You should both write your own novels. Both of your stories are really good!


Cassandra: "Too bad Dr. Macbeth's abilities are so complex. I could have made him fight you."
Vamprina: "Pfft. He wouldn't stand a chance. He is human after all."
Cassandra: "He's a talented human. Oh, and his handler...Alphaeus, he's really good at writing."
Vamprina: "So? You're good at writing too."
Cassandra: "Well...I..."
Vamprina: "I can take him. In fact, I can take his head off. Just let me go... please!"
Cassandra: "I don't know. I'll have to think about it."
Vamprina: "So that's a yes?"
Cassandra: "It's a maybe. And you're not allowed to kill him."
Vamprina: "Hey...my secret skill just revives them if I 'accidentally' get carried away."
Cassandra: "What if it doesn't work?"
Vamprina: "It always works."
Cassandra: "It's a relatively new skill though. You weren't born with it. I just added it recently."
Vamprina: "So what?"
Cassandra: "If it doesn't work, then the authorities would probably go after you, or me."
Vamprina: "I'm not afraid of the authorities. They'd never be able to find me. You on the other hand...can handle yourself. If you can't, I'll always be around to sever some spines for you."
Cassandra: "There will be NO spine severing. Don't kill him. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that would take your life anyway."
Vamprina: "If you insist."

(there is a short silence)

Vamprina: "So am I fighting him?"
Cassandra: "Not yet Vamprina. Not now..."


Oho!

Is this a veiled reference to a potential challenge? >:}

Cassandra
05-11-2016, 07:06 PM
Are you up for it? It may take me a little time to build an outline and study the Doctor's skills, but I'll have a submission eventually.

I'm kind of unsure about it though because I don't know much about hospitals and stuff (or doctor things either). In your battle with GeneratorRexDragon, you made Macbeth fight like a doctor would (e.g. stabbing at varied weak points etc.), and it all sounded very technical. Hmmm...

Side Note: It doesn't say so on Vamprina's wRHG page, but she doesn't like hospitals very much. They remind her of her experiences in secret labs, where they often did many terrible things to her. Generally she doesn't like places where people have to poke or prod her, even if their intentions are good.

Alphaeus
05-12-2016, 03:43 PM
Are you up for it? It may take me a little time to build an outline and study the Doctor's skills, but I'll have a submission eventually.

I'm kind of unsure about it though because I don't know much about hospitals and stuff (or doctor things either). In your battle with GeneratorRexDragon, you made Macbeth fight like a doctor would (e.g. stabbing at varied weak points etc.), and it all sounded very technical. Hmmm...

Side Note: It doesn't say so on Vamprina's wRHG page, but she doesn't like hospitals very much. They remind her of her experiences in secret labs, where they often did many terrible things to her. Generally she doesn't like places where people have to poke or prod her, even if their intentions are good.

Well, really, it's up to you. If you feel like this is too far out of your comfort zone, I don't want to push you. Remember, however, that there are many sides to the Doctor, beyond and surpassing his profession alone. Also, I would be certainly willing to help with any questions you might have.