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| - “W-what the hell?” Peter gasped, “what the hell are you doing?” “I’ve been an idiot...” Art gasped, “Knave wouldn’t run away if it meant losing.... Sid wouldn’t run away.... Why the hell should I? Huh?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” the docking agent asked. “It means,” Art finished, grinning triumphantly, as he crouched down, placing the tips of his fingers on the floor, “that I’m gonna beat you old school.” “Old school-?” “DAHAMA!” Art cried, as he pushed with his fingers, releasing a surprising burst of strength that rocketed him across towards the bird. He flipped around, then brought both his feet forward, smashing into the bird before it could defend. Immediately an impact shockwave coursed through it, and the bird hiccuped blood, and was launched back, slamming against the wall. Peter himself barely leaped off, landing unsteadily. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” Peter growled, quickly yanking out a knife and lunging for the Majin. “Enchantment,” Art replied as the SIDC member rushed forward, “the fighting style of the Majin race. It stings a bit but... this is the only real way I can become stronger, huh?” “I DON’T GIVE A CRAP!” Peter yelled, bringing the knife downward, “just die so I can go KILL THE OTHER REBELS!” “Sadr!” Art yelled, leaping upwards, and assuming a headstand position, his feet colliding with Peter’s chest. He quickly pushed off, backflipping around him and launching another kick. “Qafa!” the blow to the back of Peter’s neck stunned him, and he began to droop forward. Art then rolled in front of him, using his fingers for balance as the final kick came up, smashing the docking man in the face and plowing him into the wall. “RAS!” Silence filled the room, as Art leaped to his feet, landing smoothly. Blood still dripping, he turned towards the grunts, who stood there, watching in awe. “Well then,” he panted, “let’s plug this thing up, shall we?” “Y-yes sir!” the grunts yelled, quickly clearing the way for two larger grunts, who carried an honest-to-God gigantic bottle cork, exactly like the kind you’d find on wine bottles. “Wow,” Art said, “you guys really weren’t kiddingggg....” The blood loss finally hit him as he dropped to the floor. “D’ARTAGNAN-SAN!” the grunts cried again, as several medics ran forward. “Bobobobobobobobo!” Clover guffawed as he swung the massive spiked ball on the end of a long chain attached to his wrist towards Sid and his convoy. “Goddamit!” Sid swore as he leaped backwards, dodging it barely as it crashed harmlessly against the floor of a second balcony, much father up from Art’s, “freaking okamas!” And indeed, Clover was an Okama, as the makeup and lipstick on his face suggested. He landed, letting out another guffaw, as he began to swing the ball again. “And a real ball and chain?” Sid asked, eyes painfully narrowed, “seriously, what god did I piss off to get opponents like you?” “Bobobobobobo!” Clover ‘responded’, swinging it again. “Kami-e,” Sid said calmly, as he seemed to teleport to the side, the attack missing him narrowly. He then turned back to the Grunts, “and where the hell is Art and his convoy? Why haven’t they plugged up the fountain yet?!” “We don’t know, Sid-san!” one of the grunts gasped, “they should have plugged it in a few moments ago!” “Dammit,” Sid growled, continuing the dodge the Okama’s attacks, “hurry the hell up, Majin bastard!” “Oh my,” Clover finally spoke (in an terribly creepy falsetto), “looks like you’re stronger than the rest, bobobobobobo!” Sid cringed visibly at the okama’s voice. “P-please don’t speak again,” he stammered, “it’s hurting me-” “AHA!” Clover cried triumphantly, “I’ve found your weakness then! Now, I shall proceed to recite Hamlet!” “Oh sweet Jesus no-” But it was too late, as the okama tilted his head up and began releasing what, to Sid’s ears, was the worst sound to ever come out of any living being.... ever. The blue-haired navigator dropped to the floor, crying silently, hands over ears, as the horrific concert continued. “What the hell?” Calico gasped, as the last of the remaining rebels at the resistance HQ dropped to the floor, their skulls caved in, blood quickly pooling. The offender appeared to be a old man, though with a face like stone and muscles to match. He was completely missing one eye, and I mean missing, as if there had never been an eye there, only skin covering that spot. He lifted up his bludgeon, and prepared to charge for the Rebel Leader. “I said,” Calico growled, as he quickly formed multiple large paper airplanes and began charging forward, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?! FORMER KING CHIMA?!” Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
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