Fell was no stranger to the influence of alcohol. Even though his body had long since been unable to fully process any liquids that ran through his system, he still was drawn to the drink like flies to the corpses of those who had fallen in battle. It reminded him about the long nights spent rejoicing after a long battle was fought and won. These memories filled the man’s cold heart with something he was unable to feel regularly. So, it wasn’t much of a surprise to see the viking inside the Scurvy, a pirate themed bar located just a few feet away from the city of thieves itself, Rush. He stood next to the bar with his sword resting gently against a wood post that held up the rickety ceiling. His incredibly weight caused the floor to creak loudly whenever he moved, no matter how slight the motion. He had his helmet on the counter in front of him so he could drink the golden contents of the murky glass mug with no problems. Some of it would dribble down the left side of his face, causing him to grab a napkin to wipe it off while occasionally taking some skin with it. This was the thirteenth beer he had downed that night and he was only just getting started. The men and women that populated the rest of the establishment didn’t pay him much attention. He had been in there so often that he was almost like its mascot. If you didn’t see him there when you went then the drink must be bad, the locals thought. Everything was bar quiet, which sounds more like a constant stream of voices, up until he showed up. This man was influencing the atmosphere before even a single soul saw him. His presence was followed by dozens of people immediately throwing up on whatever they were looking at. Fell would have normally silently laughed at the situation, if he hadn’t been distracted by his fourteenth drink at the time. He didn’t even notice the man was in there until he sat his fat ass on the stool beside Fell.


“Can I git soooome fockin’ bear over here?!” the man’s speech was slurred and his body was covered in dirt and grime. He held a jug of some kind that seemed to be filled with liquid already, which confused Fell greatly, but he decided to pay no mind to it. But, the man seemed to be getting angry over the fact that the bartender wasn’t getting his drink fast enough, mainly due to the fact that the bartender was still throwing up because of, what Fell could only assume was, this man’s horrid odor. Fell couldn’t smell much himself, since his nose had been burned off all those years ago, so the only evidence for that assumption came from the man’s obvious aversion to bathing. The man continued to yell at the bartender, each word sliding out of his mouth lazily.


“Could you quiet down.” Fell’s low voice boomed out, making the man stop talking for precisely half a second before redirecting his anger to him.


“What the hell? Do yoooou even know who you’re talkin’ too? I am Sonicus-Burpacus Digger! Master of Kah Raw Tee!” The man got up off his stool and attempted to stand in a crane-like stance, but ended up stumbling backwards and falling on his ass. The impact caused the entire building to shake a little bit, which the 400 pound Fell was indeed used to by now. The undead viking just looked back down at his mug, noticing that there was barely any left inside. He calmly reached over the counter and poured himself another one as the drunken man continued to yell at him from his seated position.


“Oi, ugly, are you even listenin’ to me?” Sonicus got up and smacked Fell on his shoulder. Fell refused to respond to him, thinking that this shameful blob of a man was not worth any amount of his time. In fact, Fell was about to drink a few more mugs before heading back out into the real world. But, this person would not stop pushing it even though none of his attempts at aggravating Fell were working. He just stood next to the counter and ignored any verbal or physical attempt to acquire his attention. If Sonicus was mad before, he must have been furious at this point. He finally decided that he had enough of this tall brute’s shit. He needed to teach this guy a lesson and he needed to make sure it was a good one. The fat man took a deep breath in, letting the air marinate in his lungs for a second or two, before letting out a horrid belch. It sent out a shockwave that made Fell shift his weight to the side for a second, but it didn’t seem to have much of an effect on him. The things around him weren’t as lucky. The ceiling had lost some of its paint from the pure force of the burp, the counter and glass in front of Fell had shattered, his helmet had been thrusted on the ground, and the post that was holding up one quarter of the bar, the same post that Astrid was resting against, had snapped in half. Now was Fell’s time to react as he snatched his helmet off of the floor and took two giant steps to reach Astrid before the ceiling caved in. The collapse caused a chain reaction that took down a majority of the bar along with it, leaving a solitary wall on the far side of the bar standing. The man was the first one to get out of the rubble with no sign of damage on his body. He just seemed to be slightly annoyed with the current situation.


“Well... that was easy!” He exclaimed before patting his hands together and turning to walk away from the wreckage. But, his movement was impeded by the incredibly strong grip of something beneath the debris clamping down on his ankle. He violently tried to shake it off, but it was no use. Fell, the thing that was grabbing on to Sonicus, rose from beneath the planks of wood and chunks of rock that used to be the bar and, with one mighty swing, he flung the fat bastard into the only wall left standing. Sonicus broke a rib or two as he crashed through the wood and concrete before slamming into a tree not too far behind it, but this didn’t seem to affect him much. He just lazily got up, groaning, and looked forward so he could protect himself from another attack from the viking. He was shocked to find out that Fell wasn’t charging at him at all. Instead, he was rummaging through the debris, looking for something. Sonicus wasn’t going to let him toss him aside like that without a fight, so he took it upon himself to do the charging. With a mighty warcry, Sonicus charged through the debris, only to get smacked in the face with a wooden plank that Fell threw off to the side. It staggered him for a second, but he gathered himself quickly and began his pursuit once again. He dodged a discarded rock and used one of his burps to send a pile of wooden planks at Fell as he was looking for a new area to search. Fell got hit with two or three planks without flinching and he deflected the last one with a casual flick of his arm.


“What the hell are you doing?! You’re supposed to be fighting ba-” Sonicus was interrupted by a punch to the face that sent shockwaves throughout his body. He flew back, skidding along the ground, and hit another tree that snapped in half when met with his weight. Tired, bleeding, and embarrassed, Sonicus decided it was time to unleash his final attack. He stood up and attempted to stand in a way that let him charge his move, but it just made him look like Elvis trying to dance around on a recently broken knee. Then, he started inhaling. He inhaled more air than he had ever inhaled before. Once he gathered enough air, he ran up to Fell, ready to unleash his signature super burp. But, just as he was about to let the floodgates open, Fell lifted up a 2 foot bottle of beer. He pointed his mouth towards the floor, letting out a shockwave that shot him up into the air. A few seconds later, he slammed against the ground a few feet back from his launch site. Dazed, Sonicus slowly got up just as Fell tossed the bottle into his arms. Tears welled up into the fat man’s eyes when Fell passed by him, grabbing onto a handle that was poking out of the ground and pulling on it to reveal the rest of the sword.


“Thaaaank you! I didn’t even know I haaaaad lost it!” Sonicus cried as he stumbled towards his bottle’s savior. He gave him a big bear hug, unable to lift him up due to his sheer weight, which made Fell lightly pat him on the top of the head. Once he let go, Fell turned around and began to walk away from the ruined bar, picking up the body of the bartender as he stepped past it. Sonicus decided to follow him since he wondered what he would do with said body. They walked far away from the bar, past the town of Rush, and up a rather steep hill. By the time Sonicus made it to the top, drenched in sweat and panting, Fell had dug a shallow hole and placed the bartenders body inside of it. He was in the process of kicking the dirt back into the grave when Sonicus stepped up to it, letting the tears from before flow with new purpose. Even though the bartender wasn’t in their lives for too long, both of them understood the joy that he brought to them in the form of alcoholic beverages. So, when the grave was covered and the mourning was finished, Sonicus and Fell walked back down the hill.


“So… Wanna get a drink?” Sonicus asked. Fell responded with a simple nod.

I'd say the first thing I caught was Sonicus seemed to have a clunky introduction. Prior to his entrance, it had been entirely about Fell, with time shifting between the current, and backstory. With the shift, it sounds like you're taking us back to Fell's initial entrance to the bar, due to his establishment as 'he' for the past several sentences. Kinda makes you pump the breaks when things stop making sense.

Some of it would dribble down the left side of his face, causing him to grab a napkin to wipe it off while occasionally taking some skin with it. This was the thirteenth beer he had downed that night and he was only just getting started. The men and women that populated the rest of the establishment didn’t pay him much attention. He had been in there so often that he was almost like its mascot. If you didn’t see him there when you went then the drink must be bad, the locals thought. Everything was bar quiet, which sounds more like a constant stream of voices, up until he showed up. This man was influencing the atmosphere before even a single soul saw him. His presence was followed by dozens of people immediately throwing up on whatever they were looking at. Fell would have normally silently laughed at the situation, if he hadn’t been distracted by his fourteenth drink at the time. He didn’t even notice the man was in there until he sat his fat ass on the stool beside Fell.

That kinda leads into pacing and perspective. It sounds like you're trying to be silly with the character, but due to Fell's stoic and uninterested demeanor, as well his lack of sense of smell, it comes across like a joke you lack a reference point for.

“Can I git soooome fockin’ bear over here?!” the man’s speech was slurred and his body was covered in dirt and grime. He held a jug of some kind that seemed to be filled with liquid already, which confused Fell greatly, but he decided to pay no mind to it. But, the man seemed to be getting angry over the fact that the bartender wasn’t getting his drink fast enough, mainly due to the fact that the bartender was still throwing up because of, what Fell could only assume was, this man’s horrid odor. Fell couldn’t smell much himself, since his nose had been burned off all those years ago, so the only evidence for that assumption came from the man’s obvious aversion to bathing. The man continued to yell at the bartender, each word sliding out of his mouth lazily.

This is more less the pacing part. It reads like 3 seconds have passed, but it seems to try implying it's been much longer than that, with everything said being breezed through with just a mention. I get that Fell is your lead, and that you want to showcase things through his eyes, but if the emotion you convey is not caring, your audience won't care. You could easily slide over to the barkeep or have Fell watch him to give your reader a sense of the situation.

“Can I git soooome fockin’ bear over here?!” the man’s speech was slurred and his body was covered in dirt and grime. He held a jug of some kind that seemed to be filled with liquid already, which confused Fell greatly, but he decided to pay no mind to it. Instead, he turned to the splutter sound behind the counter, watching the bartender hunched over the waste basket, wiping the vomit his hands failed to contain off his fingers in the lining as he dry-heaved over it. Reflectively, Fell's hand slid over the top of his cup as the next wave of bile flushed out of the man's maw, but beside him, the already wasted waste of space began shouting at the barkeep, each word sliding out of his mouth lazily.

Additionally, with the perspective, nothing seems to matter. The bar collapses, killing people, but that's only confirmed at the very end with the bartender's corpse. There's a crowd, but they go entirely unnoticed and make no impact, which seems to make the event not matter, paired with and highlighted by Fell's approximate no fucks. Without an impact, there isn't much to stick with your readers. I get that it was a hard pairing to write, but if you're dealing with someone who feels nothing and someone off the wall, a bystander's eye may make a better lenses at points.