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View Full Version : Manny Ken (Azure) v. Zhelan (Lobotomizer)



Azure
07-15-2016, 02:10 PM
So, here we've got the second battle between me and Lobo. Links to our characters:

Manny Ken (http://forums.stickpage.com/showthread.php?48890-Manny-Ken-Mannequin)

&

Zhelan (http://forums.stickpage.com/showthread.php?99534-Zhelan)



Let me tell you, I am nobody’s puppet.
~Nydia Velazquez

~~~~~

So, the first thing that came to mind when the kid asked me to take over for him in his
stead for a while was ’When the hell did this kid grow up? Wish I could say I was proud of him, but that tends to not be my style of doing things. That isn’t to say I wasn’t glad he was finally deciding to get at pair; it just took him way too damn long to get to it. At some point, one has to ask themselves just what the hell they’re doing with their lives, and I’m pretty sure the kid passed that point a while ago. Seemed that getting his ass handed to him by that gal with the sword knocked at least a bit of sense into the kid.

Now, apparently, whatever kind of training the kid was gonna be going through, it was gonna take all of his time. So, me being the oh-so-very kind spirit that I am, generously offered to take over the Night Creatures whilst he did… whatever the hell it is angsty teenage weirdos did when they said they needed to train. He didn’t seem keen to tell, so I sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask. His business was his business after all, and I got to relive some of the good ole days. It didn’t quite occur to me, however, just how much the past was going to come crashing back to me.

It had been about a week since the change in management took place when I got an invitation to battle from the RHG system. It seemed that the battle was initially to go to the kid; I called them up just to let them know he wasn’t exactly around for that. They didn’t seem to take that news very well. They were paying our bills, and their audiences wanted a fight. So either I was to get the kid back here, wherever the hell he was, or the clan was going to get shut down, post-haste. Now, this was something I wouldn’t exactly be able to make happen, so I told them the current situation, and we decided on a compromise: I’d handle the kid’s battles as long as he was out and about doing who-the-f**k cares.

I had to admit, the thought of getting some proper fights again put a smile on my face.

So, after getting the details, I got in a quick stretch, grabbed my gear, and went on my way. Apparently, I was going to be fighting some bitch-ass emo guy with a sword and some magic shooting powers. Really, people love swords in this organization. You’d think more people would use things like guns or whatnot. Yeah, there’s a lot of monsters and bugaboos all over the place, but a well-placed bullet tends to be useful. I blame the schools myself, making a bunch of people into weeaboos and sickos. I glanced at my own weapon, a pickaxe that had been given to me who knows how many years ago, made unbreakable with the same weird magic that made me alive so I could kill a demon-like thing. Hadn’t really run into that many demons afterwards, surprisingly enough; I could still sense them out though. Not exactly a useful trick, but it was still a neat one. Hard to find a use for it at parties however.

The battle wasn't in the arena this time, thank god (who doesn’t do shit) for that. Place always gave me weird vibes. Maybe it’s because I don’t quite get how they make the area inside those rooms larger than the entire building. Or how they can set up certain terrains like it ain’t nothing but a breeze. Science? Bullshit, ain’t a principle in the world to explain that kind of science. Still, having some abandoned factory as the backdrop to my first fight back in the system was kinda bleak. Hopefully, this guy would give me a decent challenge. If he didn’t… well, I wasn’t immediately all that interested in killing some babe with his mama’s teat barely out his mouth. I’d probably just settle with beating him half to death so I could say it was a day well spent.


~~~~~

The factory was rather small all things considered, more likely used as a storehouse than for actual construction. Debris from wooden crates and metal bars from the crumbling rafters littered the floor, dust settled over everything like a blanket. Broken and discarded machinery lay scattered about, telling stories of past use and futile lives of servitude only to be tossed aside to waste away. There was a second floor, likely accessible via some unseen stairway, where CEOs and Execs probably overlooked operations down on the ground floor, feeding some superiority complexes and overcompensating for their lack of balls while real men and women got things done or them below. Dingy orange light filtered weakly in through the grime-covered windows and the open doors from the street lights outside, though they hardly penetrated the darkness of the evening gloom. I smiled to myself; my dark clothing would work well in this setup. A quick glance around told me that my opponent wasn’t here yet. Annoying, but I could use it to my advantage.

Finding a spot by some old crates, I made myself as comfortable as possible, and simply began to wait. A fun fact about me: I don’t sleep, but I can dream all the same. It might be because of how I was made, or because I was designed to kill a thing that came from people’s minds, but all the same, if I close my eyes long enough, I’m no longer bound to my body. So I sat, and I waited, and I dreamt.

“Little General Monk,
Sat upon a trunk,
Eating a crust of bread~”

My eyes shot open in an instant. Was that a little girl? That didn’t make any sense…

“There fell a hot coal,
And burnt into his clothes a hole,
Now little General Monk is dead~”

I got on my feet, now feeling annoyed. There was a nostalgic feeling in my chest.

“Keep always from the fire,
If it catch your attire,
You too, like General Monk, will be dead~”

Oh, this had just gotten so much more interesting. There was a demon here. Saying her little rhyme in that young girl voice… probably picked it out just to spite me. I didn’t have the same issue with fire I used to, though it still freaked me out quite a bit. She was taunting me. The fact she was here meant she was likely with the guy I was fighting, Zhelan. My motivations had just risen a bit. If this was turning into another demon hunt, then I’d certainly get to enjoy myself. Moving from the shadows, I looked upwards to see if she was going to make me hunt her down or not. It seemed she wasn’t, as she was looking right back down at me. With creamy hair loosely tied in black trailing down the sides of her head and an ashen dress covering her form, the demoness smiled down at me with eyes emptier than the abyss. Casually, she pointed to the right, where a shadow loomed in the doorway. I focused my attention on it; it became clear rather quickly that the girl wasn’t going to be much of a threat herself, meaning she was paired with the boy, likely his source of power.

“Oi, asshole,” I called. “This brat with you I take it?” I wasn’t exactly known for having manners. The guy didn’t seem to take offense at least, moving forward into the light so I could get a better look at him. Somewhere in his early or mid-twenties, he seemed to have all the trademarks of an Asian, with none of the more discerning features to place his land of origin. His black hair was a mess and fell to his shoulders like a woman’s, and his clothing looked a bit out of touch, like something a grandpa would wear. A loose white shirt with some kind of silk pants, giving very little indication of his form. His sword hung loosely on his left, not oversized or ridiculous looking or anything. Breaking a whole lot of stereotypes, this one was.

He gave me a look over himself, the look of disinterest very apparent on his face. Irritating, almost. When he spoke, his accent made it even harder to place him anywhere, though I feel that ‘Ching-Chong Moonspeak’ wouldn’t have been too off base. “You’re not human. I’ve got no reason to fight you, and I’m sure you’ve no reason to fight me, either. I’ll simply forfeit this little game and be on my way. Come, Ilen. We’ve other things to-”

His sentence was cut off by the sound of my pickaxe striking an abandoned forklift. I wasn’t about to deal with this bullshit. “I ain’t got a reason to fight you? Did I just hear you correctly?” Zhelan’s expression doesn’t change as he focuses on me once more.
“Correct,” he responds dryly. “I’m not a part of this system of yours. Just caught in circumstances, and making use of them.”

If I had teeth, oh, they would be grinding right now. I point my pickaxe towards him. “Well, how’s about I give you a reason, eh? Thing is, I was originally made to be a demon hunter.” My pickaxe now points upwards, towards the still-smiling dark little girl. “And that right there, is a demon. Judging by you knowing her name and her traveling with you so willingly, you’re probably her thrall. So, either I’m going to fight you, or I’m going after the demon right now. Your choice, Chopsticks.”

Seemed I was finally making some headway, since he turned back to me, hand on the pommel of his sword. “I’d rather not waste my time playing with dolls.” There’s a slight shift in his eyes, so small a detail that I’d almost not caught it in the darkness; however, that shift told me all I needed to know. I’d stricken a nerve. “I cannot, however, simply leave you to do as you please. If it’s a fight you desire, then I shall oblige, and when you are broken, I’ll be on my way.”

He drew his weapon, a simple sword, though it seemed to lightly hum. Probably with asian magicks, no doubt about it. I gripped my own weapon with both hands, feeling that old familiar sensation start to run through me once more. “Well, let’s get to it then.” I rushed forward, pickaxe head to the ground, sparks flying as it scraped against the concrete. Zhelan stood stoically, his stance shifting ever so slightly so that more weight was on his back foot. Seemed the guy had some classic training. Didn’t matter to me. Even if he knew what I was, most people made the same mistake when fighting me.

I went for a feint to from above. For me, any attack can become a feint; after all, what danger is there for me in losing a limb or two? He went for it, moving to block my pickaxe, when I stepped in to mess with the angle of his swing. Just like that, my arm came off, and I was left backing off. He looked to my arm with the faintest of disgust, brushing it off of his shoulder. With one arm to hold my weapon, I let out a slow sigh, before rushing forward once more. This time, I was striking from the same side as his sword, making a wide arc. He moved once more to parry me aside, when his attention wavered; with my severed arm, I’d grabbed his leg. It wasn’t a huge distraction, but it was the only one I’d needed. Swinging my pickaxe around, I pierced his skull. As my weapon connected, the look in his eyes… what the hell was up with this guy? There was shock, yeah, but there was also… annoyance?

His body fell lifeless to the floor, and grabbing my arm, I quickly stitched it back on, testing to make sure I’d placed it properly. Behind me, I heard a light thump on the ground. Stepping on Zhelan’s neck, I pulled free my pickaxe, and turned to point it towards the little demon who gave me a glare to freeze a man’s blood. Then, she slowly began to smile. “The hell are you so happy for-”

“Think you can do that some more~?”

~~~~~

I woke up behind the crates to a blade stabbing me through the head, lodging itself into the stone behind me. The look of shock was plain on my face as I stared at Zhelan, then my fell closed. Slowly, the weapon slid out, and I listened as it went back into its scabbard. “Three times. Hopefully, this will keep you down long enough.” Keeping to feigning death, I waited for the sound of him turning around. It took a bit; this guy was shockingly cautious. Most people would’ve immediately left when they stabbed a sleeping opponent in the head. As he turned, I heard a little girl’s voice.

“Are you sure that’s enough~? It sounds like he’s rather sturdily built after all.” Something in my chest tightened as I heard her voice, like some old craving had come back. It couldn’t be… Zhelan slowly turned back to me. Looks like my opportunity to strike had been lost. Now I had to simply see how things played out.

It was then, I felt my head disconnect from my body and land on the floor, facing upwards at the man. His blade was already going back into the sheath again. “I apologize, but there was little choice. I couldn’t risk you following me and getting to Ilen.” He turned away once more, not noticing my body stand and raise my pickaxe high. Seemed he’d been pretty cautious, a refreshing change of pace; however, he hadn’t been cautious enough.

“You were fun,” I managed to get out with a chuckle. “Sorry we couldn’t have a proper fight.” The weapon came down as he turned back to me, and my vision turned red as the blood sprayed.



~~~~~

As I entered the factory, standing in the center, sword held steady, was a man I could only assume to be Zhelan. I moved my pickaxe to my shoulder, giving a big smile. “You’re earlier than I am,” I called out. He didn’t respond, seeming to tighten his stance. God, formal fighters were always a pain in the ass, especially the stoic, “I’ve got nothing to say to you” types. “What the hell, dude. Cat got your tongue or something?”

“Eight,” he says so softly I nearly missed it. I gave my head a scratch. Was this dude a junkie or something? Guess it took all kinds in this system. Well, if he was in the system, it meant he could fight at least, so high or not, I’d at least have some entertainment for the night.

“Dunno what you meant by that, but if it was a joke or something, it was piss poor. You usually have to set up for them, ya know? But hey, I ain’t here for no comedy routine anyways. I’m here for a fight. So, let’s hope you can keep me entertained, a’ight?”

To my surprise, he gave a curt nod. My smile grew a little bit larger. This night wouldn’t be ruined after all. That said, something did feel… weird. Off. It was like there was some sort of niggling, forgotten sensation. It was small, however, so I ignored it as I stepped forward. Zhelan remained where he was, moonlight and streetlight shining down on him like conflicting gods trying to give the man an entrance. For me, shadows curled around my dark form, not too eager to let me go. After a few moments, we stood close to each other, only a few feet between us; if I had a heart, it’d be beating with anticipation, adrenaline coursing through me. For some reason, I’d had a bit of a sense of deja vu, as though we’d fought before. My excitement was palpable as I lowered my weapon to the ground, it striking it with a sharp tch!

“So, fighting to the death, or until one of us yields?” My grip slowly tightened on the black shaft. It was hard to wait.

“Yield,” Zhelan replied coldly, his eyes void of emotion. It was disappointing, but I could accept it. After all, I wasn’t looking for a bloodbath to begin with; this just meant I had more of a challenge. I turn my pickaxe around, so the non-pointed side was facing forwards. It could still kill, but it was considerably more difficult to do so with how I fought.

“Right then. Let’s get to it.”

I was immediately met with a flurry of small, precise slashes aimed for my head and arms. I backed off, amused and worried. Those types of attacks were meant to kill and incapacitate; if he’d hit a normal person with any of them, they’d likely be dead. With that lack of hesitation, it looked like there was no chance of him falling for the usual tricks.

“So, seems you already know that killing me is pretty hard, heh,” I joked, still dodging about. Zhelan pulls back a bit, lightly tapping his sword to the ground, before lunging forward with a thrust. The move caught me off guard, and the blade went clean through my chest. Following through, in a fluid movement, he sliced through me, my body falling over back at the lack of support. Using my pickaxe as a support, I backed off further, before a bolt of… something, struck me in the hand, knocking it free from my grasp. I fell over, body nearly sliced in half, though a big grin on my face. “Heh, you’re good, dude.” I rip myself apart, my upper half rolling back as my legs slowly get up. Zhelan’s expression continues to not change. Figured.

Jumping up, my legs start kicking at him, getting a few hits in. They didn’t do much damage, but they did let me get my sewing kit out. With a dropkick to the chest causing him to stumble a bit, my legs zoom back to me, getting in place. I stitch myself back together quickly, rolling backwards onto my feet. “Ah, this is just what I needed. It’s been too long since I’ve had a proper challenge.” Zhelan looks to me, empty eyes seeming to search for something. Or maybe that was just a distraction, because I got hit by five more of those bolts, knocking me back. Jabbing my pickaxe into the ground, I managed to avoid getting blown on my ass again. Judging by the amount of force they had, those things probably hurt like a bitch.

Zhelan moved in again while I was stunned, but this time, I had a plan. Waiting until the last moment, I let go of my pickaxe entirely, his sword swipe passing clear overak it as I rolled forward beneath the strike, kicking him in the nuts as I did so. With a solid hit, his defense lowered (though he barely gasped; the hell was this guy made of?), and grabbing my pickaxe behind me, I swing it around and into his leg. The crack resounds through the factory as I breaking his tibia. He collapses to his knee, though he keeps his sword held steady. Standing, I back off and observe him for a moment, before I simply lower my weapon.

“Alright, we’re done here.” He looks up to me, eyes unreadable. I roll mine. “Look, with that leg injury, you’re not gonna be able to fight me all that well anymore. You’ll have to keep weight off of it, meaning you can’t take a proper stance, and even if you mostly rely on arm strength and wrist flicks, you’re the type who needs a firm position to allow it. So yeah, we’re done. This was fun; you’re clearly a tough gladiator, and if not for me being, ya know, not human, you definitely would’ve won. Let’s fight again some day.”

“I… am no gladiator,” Zhelan responds with, softly. “I had to kill a gladiator, and now your system is sending you gladiators after me.”

“Well, I ain’t technically a gladiator either,” Manny says. “Not anymore, at least. Consider me a temp; and since I’m a temp, I don’t give a fuck if they want you dead or not. I wanted a fight, I got a fight. We’ll end things here.” And like that, I was off, whistling cheerfully as I did so.



~~~~~

When Manny was gone, Zhelan pulled out his phone. “It’s done. I’ve got a broken tibia, but the wound isn’t too serious. It shouldn’t take more than a month to heal.” He listened as someone spoke on the other line. “Yes, it did seem that you being here was what made him more aggressive. Let’s move along; hopefully, the next gladiator they send won’t be as much trouble.”




“So you see, as per under the third contract, article sixty nine, fourth line from the left, I’m legally obliged to, say, make you hurt really bad.”

There came a silent moment as Zhelan regarded the figure with as much bewilderment as would be expected from usual demeanor. Not only was it talking absolute nonsense, but it was quite literally a talking object; a mannequin who seemed like he’d wanted to look human once, but discarded then his efforts halfway and called it a day.

“It is called ‘humour’, Zhelan. The concept may elude you ever so often.” Ilen spoke first, even as she was halfway through her third chocolate bar.

“Very bad humour, if it can be called that.”

“Your mother is bad.” The mannequin replies blithely.

“She is dead.’

“Oh.” He stopped for a brief moment. “Well I guess that’s what she got for being bad.”

It had been but a few hours after dawn, where in their walk the two were accosted by this strange individual of tattered cloth mounted upon crudely fused wax that seemed to be raring for a fight. It seemed not quite malicious, but any attempt to glean its motivations were returned with sarcastic and unhelpful replies. Attempting to read him any deeper also gave no results, for there was little to read than the poorly scrawled dots for eyes and an opening that inexplicably flapped as it talked.

“You seem intent on fighting on equal ground,” Zhelan spoke, in one last attempt to reason with this strange individual. “If you require my cooperation in this, then I will want yours.”

A gust of wind blew through its mouth in what could loosely be called a sigh. “Look buddy, you’d think you would have read the fine print of the contract. You and I are in this thing called, I don’t know, Tokyo Mew Mew Gladiators or something. We beat up other gladiators and get money for it, and that’s the only thing I know how to do apart from theoretical quantum physics. You can see why I need a ‘fair’ fight. I’ll even promise I won’t kill you if I win. Probably. It’s hard to do that with a lethal weapon.”

“You answer a great many questions I’ve had.” He replied. “Do you know who are the people behind this?”

“Nothing. Why do I need to? Kill goes in, money goes out.”

There was a pause.

“Now I need to know something, my stone faced, motherless friend. Just who in the world is that girl of yours? Because my spidey senses can tell you’ve got a little demon in you, girl. And a little demon in anybody is not something I like very much.”

“Would a demon be eating chocolate?” Ilen replied simply, a most innocent expression on her face.

An eerie laughter expelled from the mannequin’s cloth lips, a stark contrast to its previously foolish demeanor. When it spoke again its voice maintained the same humour, but a tinge of bloodthirst marked its tone.

“Change of plans. I’ll have to kill you and that girl. Sorry buddy, but rules are rules, article sixty nine and all that. Can’t exactly have demons running around and ruining things. Or people who take in demons.”

“Oh that won’t do. I would have to explain to the celestial bureaucracy why I should reincarnate a century earlier,” Ilen chirped, but the rest of her banter was cut off as Zhelan swiftly moved himself between she and the mannequin. Already his sword was drawn, and he had settled to a battle ready stance.

“Go back, Ilen. I trust you know the way.”

“Go back?” She frowned. “Do not be foolish, Zhelan. Why would I run away when there is a battle to spectate?”

“Your life is my responsibility.”

There was a deathly silence between the two, and though Zhelan could not see her expression, the sudden change in atmosphere gave more than a hint as to how she felt.

“You would have me save you,” Ilen began, ever so softly that he could scarcely hear her, yet filled with enough malice to chill a man. “Yet at the slightest notice throw me away when I am not needed?”

He grimaced. It was a mistake to say what he had, but the constant memory of her death haunted him more than he would ever readily admit. Yet there was no saving the situation; Ilen did not forgive slights upon her pride.

“Then do as you wish.” He replied simply.

“I will.” He heard her spit those words, and and a set of tiny footsteps that faded into the distance, but could not bring himself to look back. Not whilst he had a threat to face.

“Playing hero are we? It’s kind of refreshing, in a way.” The mannequin remarks with a wide grin. “But the show’s over and the audience needs blood. Don’t hold it against me buddy.”

“You would have us fight openly in public.”

“Don’t bother taking the moral high ground now, if you bothered looking around you the street’s empty. That’s just the beauty of it all, you know?”

Zhelan could scarcely turn his attention to his surroundings, for the pickaxe came down faster than its weight would suggest, swiftly cutting through the space where he had been mere moments before had he not side stepped to the right. The pickaxe came swinging once more into his torso, but he swiftly flicked his wrist, knocking the handle aside with his own blade and thrusted at the mannequin’s shoulder. A dull thud echoed as steel lodged firmly into wax, but the lack of reaction from it told him something was amiss.

As if on cue, the pickaxe came hurtling behind him, forcing him to step forward into kissing distance where it would not reach. The mannequin only grinned at him, even as he levered against his blade to completely dismember its dominant arm. A single shove sent it tumbling into the dirt.

“This is enough.” Zhelan declared. “THere is little need to go further than this.”

The mannequin stood up effortlessly, unfazed by the sudden lack of a limb. “You think?” It spoke with the same vicious grin. There was nothing it had left, yet it was intent on continuing what appeared to be a losing battle. Zhelan furrowed his brow, running through his head the reasons behind this. If it was not insane, it had to be hiding something.

He spun around expecting an attack, and just then the pickaxe lodged itself into his calf, guided by the same arm he had removed from his enemy. There was a sickening sound of torn flesh as the pickaxe was pulled back out, and he collapsed noiselessly upon one knee.

“Big surprise eh?” The arm crawled its way to the mannequin, who had already prepared a sewing kit to reattach it with. “Maybe I won’t need to kill you after all. You can lay right there whilst I chop your demon girl to bits. No harm no fuss eh?”

No sooner had it rejoined its arm however, did a searing light hammer into its torso, striking it into the ground once more. Zhelan had brought himself up on his other leg, and the light stance he carried suggested well enough that he was not yet about to concede defeat.

“You will not take a step close to her.” He said firmly.

It lurched forward, visibly disgruntled by his opponent’s newly presented ability. “You really don’t feel pain do you?”

“I would think it only fair.”

It made a motion of spitting onto the ground, though nothing did come out. “I’ll take that back a
second time. I’m wiping your head from the face of the earth.”

“Feel free to try.”

It lunged at him with a bloodcurdling cry, slamming down his pickaxe upon Zhelan with all the aggression of a beast, yet as the other parried away the handle, used its momentum to kick at Zhelan’s uninjured leg. He stumbled, the force not enough to fell him, but gave an opening the mannequin needed to swing once more from under him. With no time to ready his sword Zhelan kicked himself back, rolling into the ground and recovering just in time to see the mannequin bearing down with all the half crazed viciousness its limited features could manage.

But it was little more than a show from him. The pickaxe never reached its intended target, blown away yet once more by a bolt of light. At the same time he kicked forward, crashing into the mannequin in an attempt to pin it onto the ground. There was no finesse or elegance in what he did, merely a display of two figures struggling to overpower the other that may be well regarded as comical, but Zhelan had won. For all the ferocity the mannequin carried, it had little strength to retaliate with and was rendered useless within a scant several seconds.

“You yellow bastard,” It wheezed, still squirming weakly under Zhelan’s grasp. “I’ll bite your legs off!”

“Rather hard when you can barely move, is it not?”

The voice of Ilen came honeyed and sweet as she strolled to where the two were. Contrary to her tone her expression was dark and sadistic, holding none of the usual carefree childishness.

The mannequin struggled even harder at the sight of her. It cast a glance at Zhelan, almost exasperated. “You’ve got to be kidding. You don’t ever look at her and think that she might pull your guts out one day when you’re asleep? Why the hell are you protecting her?”

“Leave, and never come back. That is the best thing you can do now.” Zhelan’s words came unnaturally terse.

“Nonsense, we should dismember him….limb by limb, and cast them into the seas.” Ilen interrupted, drawing out each word with deliberate emphasis.

“Go!” He stood and punted the wax figure, sending it tumbling away.

“You’ve made an enemy of the Night Creatures, chinaboy! You mess with me you mess with the pack!” The mannequin jeered, even as it scrambled to withdraw from the two.

Ilen watched its figure disappear behind the buildings, and when she turned to Zhelan, all humour she had previously drained from her face, leaving just a chilling and threatening look.

“You would let an enemy go? Despite declaring that my safety is of import?”

“I-”

“No, I know what you would say, Zhelan.” She gripped his collar, dragging his head down to hers. “You would say anything that suits your position. Too much of a bother, am I?”

There was but silence as both stared into each other’s eyes. In Zhelan’s mind he ran through all the responses he could give, but none came across as helpful. There was simply nothing he could say.

So he hugged her.
There came a short gasp of surprise, but she did not resist him, nor did she speak. She simply stood wordlessly as he held her close to his body, as if waiting for a verbal response.

And then finally, he spoke. “I am sorry.”

“Is that all you have to say?” Her voice was neutral.

“When I saw you die before me, I requested your help so you may not meet the same fate. Yet you’ve saved me, putting yourself in harm’s way when I sought the opposite. I never wanted that to happen again.”

“So you wish to keep me alive so my punishment may continue? So you need not go through the effort of resetting the cycle if I do expire?”

“...You are more to me than that.”

A drawn out pause. And then, surprisingly, Ilen gave a short giggle. “You are manipulative, Zhelan. Your words are but half truths upon half truths, but I will take you for your word.

“Will you forgive me?”

“For now, yes.”

He did not let go immediately, but deliberately loosed his grasp, until the two were once more face to face. Ilen was once more in her good-humoured mood, flashing him a satisfied smile. So stark the change was, that it felt as if she was ever more agreeable than before.

“Our dinner will have to be grandiose.”

“Oh? Will you break your principles so quickly? I had thought you a better man than that.”

“For you, perhaps I will.”

There came a pleasant laughter, and the two continued in their walk.



As usual, vote fairly, and C&C is highly appreciated.

Kamiroo Wolf
07-22-2016, 04:52 PM
I REALLY hope some other people read these.

There isn't much CC I can give, and I don't really know who to vote for.

I enjoyed the characters in Lobo's story more than in Azure's,

But on the other hand I enjoyed Azure's storytelling more than I did Lobotomizer's.

I'm going to vote for Azure because storytelling, but honestly both stories were great and the work the both of you put into each of your pieces is greatly appreciated

Cassandra
07-23-2016, 02:21 PM
I voted for Azure because I think his story was better. Lobotomizer...your story was good, but it almost felt too short for me. Manny and Zhelan met, fought, and then the last section was mostly Illen and Zhelan talking to each other.

That's just my opinion, but both your stories were fun to read! Keep it up!

XDHunterNest
07-23-2016, 04:41 PM
I agree with Cass. Both were good, but Azure comes up on top for me.

Azure
07-30-2016, 10:47 PM
Worth the poll having closed today, I'm happy to say I've gotten my first win against Lobo. Happy times.