Conflict (Cont)
The larger man began to taunt his fallen opponent, raising his arms to the sky and letting loose with a manic laugh. As the sound echoed into the distance, he raised his axe, preparing for a killing blow, when his opponent flew to his feat, and with a battle cry charged once again. This time the smaller man was quicker, and delivered a telling blow to his opponent’s chest, stunning him with the force and ferocity of the hit. The tables suddenly turned, the other man began assailing his adversary with a hail of blows and cuts, each one steadily battering down his opponent more and more. Brief and sad attempts at reversals were made, but each one failed, and the next would have less skill and energy. Finally, the smaller man took a step back, raised a blade to the sky and let loose a chant that pierced through the night.
A bright glow suddenly encompassed him, first covering his blade, then his entire body. As the chant rose to its climax, a bolt of lightning flew towards the blade, striking it in a rain of sparks and fire. The small man quickly plunged the dagger into his enemy, and its effects were quick: The wound quickly expanded in the barbarian’s chest, burning and shooting forth with electricity. He let loose a horrible death cry and then fell to the ground, well and truly dead. The smaller man turned to his side and gave a small smirk, as above him in blood red, large words began to float reading: “EXECUTION! +20,000,000 POINTS!”
------
“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!”
“God, you’re such a poor loser”
“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!”
“Come on, we’ve got half and hour before we’re supposed to be at the hall. You’ll do better next time, I’m sure”
“Shit! I fucking HAD you!”
The dimly lit arcade was a cacophony of various noises, bleeps and bloops, Japanese pop songs and a million digital death screams. Aesthetically, the room had probably seen better days, but as far as arcades go it was in pretty good shape. Columns of classic cabinets were intermittedly broken by a larger “gimmick” game – one equpiied with a realistic sniper rifle, or motorcycle or dance floor or taiko drum. Andrew pushed his way past a few street kids, well on their way to destroying the controls on a particularly frustrating fighting game, while Jason trailed him, periodically stopping by nearby machines, sliding his hand into the coin return slots, hoping to get lucky. The cabinet they left had quickly become occupied by another one of the urchins, who made quick work of losing, and now it taunted them as they departed, muscle-bound warriors beating the ever-loving crap out of each other in demonstration mode, while a deep voiced narrator informed passersby that “This is the fight of the century! Dare you enter the tournament of the GODS?!”
As the pair made their way to the front of the arcade, the machines began to thin out to a few next-big-hit games and a few rows of change machines and dispensers of various snacks and drinks that were probably not the best thing to have around thousands of dollars worth of electronics. A small island floated in the middle of the floor, manned by a lanky teenager who busily poured through a text book, seemingly unaffected by the constant noise around him.
“We’re out of here. See you later man.”
“Hummm.”
A bright glow suddenly encompassed him, first covering his blade, then his entire body. As the chant rose to its climax, a bolt of lightning flew towards the blade, striking it in a rain of sparks and fire. The small man quickly plunged the dagger into his enemy, and its effects were quick: The wound quickly expanded in the barbarian’s chest, burning and shooting forth with electricity. He let loose a horrible death cry and then fell to the ground, well and truly dead. The smaller man turned to his side and gave a small smirk, as above him in blood red, large words began to float reading: “EXECUTION! +20,000,000 POINTS!”
------
“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!”
“God, you’re such a poor loser”
“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!”
“Come on, we’ve got half and hour before we’re supposed to be at the hall. You’ll do better next time, I’m sure”
“Shit! I fucking HAD you!”
The dimly lit arcade was a cacophony of various noises, bleeps and bloops, Japanese pop songs and a million digital death screams. Aesthetically, the room had probably seen better days, but as far as arcades go it was in pretty good shape. Columns of classic cabinets were intermittedly broken by a larger “gimmick” game – one equpiied with a realistic sniper rifle, or motorcycle or dance floor or taiko drum. Andrew pushed his way past a few street kids, well on their way to destroying the controls on a particularly frustrating fighting game, while Jason trailed him, periodically stopping by nearby machines, sliding his hand into the coin return slots, hoping to get lucky. The cabinet they left had quickly become occupied by another one of the urchins, who made quick work of losing, and now it taunted them as they departed, muscle-bound warriors beating the ever-loving crap out of each other in demonstration mode, while a deep voiced narrator informed passersby that “This is the fight of the century! Dare you enter the tournament of the GODS?!”
As the pair made their way to the front of the arcade, the machines began to thin out to a few next-big-hit games and a few rows of change machines and dispensers of various snacks and drinks that were probably not the best thing to have around thousands of dollars worth of electronics. A small island floated in the middle of the floor, manned by a lanky teenager who busily poured through a text book, seemingly unaffected by the constant noise around him.
“We’re out of here. See you later man.”
“Hummm.”
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