11-17-2016, 11:35 PM
This was getting frustrating. Not the fight, no, Kuzuru loved the conflict. What was turning out to be more obnoxious by the minute was Agern’s insistence on making his presence known. In the demon’s eye Agern’s soul had served its purpose and was no longer need, and yet he kept wrestling Kuzuru for control of Renji’s body. It got to where Kuzuru couldn’t even enjoy the give and take of their fight with Ballad, every blow seemed to be orchestrated at least in part by Agern. It was like if you were given a lollipop, but another kid got to eat the candy while you were forced to hold the stick -- unsatisfying and absolutely infuriating. Turning his voice inward Kuzuru addressed the transient soul in his mind, “Agern, I swear to Omni if you try to wrest control from me again I will make sure you fucking regret it.”
“I did not agree to your deal to simply be a spectator and stand idly by,” Agern’s voice boomed between Kuzuru’s ears.
Kuzuru sighed and retracted his blades into his arms. Nearby Ballad crawled to his feet, recovering from the earlier assault. The gunsmith wrapped green fingers around his pickaxe, hefting the weapon up onto his shoulder. He started to trudge towards his opponent, ready to bash the demon’s skull in. Kuzuru held up a finger and said, “wait a moment, can I call a timeout real quick?” An audacious request to be sure, and one that perturbed the approaching Ballad. Doing his level best to ignore the approaching threat Kuzuru turned his voice inward once more, “I’ll level with you Agern, if you don’t act up so daddy can kick this guy’s ass we can go get some ice cream afterwards, how does that sound lil’ guy?”
“Do not patronize me demon,” Agern responded, “I will personally see that Ballad is driven into dust, and you will not stop me.”
“Fine,” Kuzuru growled out loud, “have it your way.”
Ballad was now only a few feet away from his target, a few more steps and he’d be within striking distance. There was a change in the atmosphere, almost imperceptible, but Ballad noticed a slight shift in the demon’s posture. Like a drunkard after happy hour Kuzuru lurched forward, his feet performing a clumsy stumbling dance. Ballad took a cautious step back, and watched as his enemy continued to fumble forward. Swinging his weapon like a baseball bat Ballad aimed for Kuzuru’s bobbing head. In the split second before impact the demon’s eyes ignited like road flares, signaling Agern’s control of the body. Boom. The flat edge of the pickaxe collided with the side of Agern’s newly acquired face with a sound not unlike that of throwing a raw chunk of hamburger patty at a concrete wall. In a burst of blood, teeth, and plastic shade fragments Agern was thrown into a snowbank several feet away. It was only after the blast of viscera that Ballad realized Kuzuru intentionally threw himself into the swing.
“Hurts doesn’t it Agern?” Kuzuru’s voice thrummed in the depths of Agern’s aching cranium, “This is my fight, not yours, and I am not so proud that I won’t swallow the barrel of his revolver and eat lead just to keep your thieving mitts from taking what is mine, so either shut up and sit down or get ready for another trip to the dentist.” Without another word Agern relinquished his control over to Kuzuru. The smoldering fireballs in his eyes extinguished themselves.
Blotting out every last scrap of light Ballad towered over the downed demon. In a high arc Ballad swung his axe, hoping to crack open Kuzuru’s head like a melon in a Gallagher act. Schunk. The pick dug itself deep into the snowbank, having been dodged by only a few inches. Ballad looked upon his fallen foe and was met with a visceral smile. Shattered sunglasses hung uselessly from Kuzuru’s ear and the left side of his face was covered in blood. He grinned, showing off a bloodied set of chompers, half of them cracked or completely missing. Kuzuru was back and he was ready to rock baby. Braced against the snowbank Kuzuru pulled back his legs and kicked at Ballad’s sternum, the solid strike sent the gunsmith stumbling backwards gasping for air.
The demon peeled himself from the snowbank and stood, half of a grin still plastered across his face. Ballad’s pickaxe sat buried in the snow, abandoned by its owner, the demon couldn’t help but free it from its icy tomb. Thick bundles of muscle pulsed beneath burgundy skin as Kuzuru felt the weight in his hands. First swallowing a tablespoon of blood and then opening his mouth to speak the demon taunted, “you know, you really shouldn’t leave your toys lying around Ballad, someone might-” Muzzle flare, followed by a thunderclap interrupted Kuzuru mid-sentence. Something hot bit into the lower portion of his ribcage and he took a half-step back. Ah yes, bullets, how could he forget the most pernicious of weaponry? Kuzuru cast aside the pick, tossing it back into a slush of blood-covered snow. A “fuck you!” followed by another series of gunshots lit up their battlefield. Like a swarm of hornets each bullet tore into the demon, and every impact threw up a mist of red.
After the hail of bullets there was a moment of almost serene silence, the ghosts of each gunshot echoing throughout the chamber. “Six,” Kuzuru said, stepping towards Ballad. Between them sat the still-burning lump of wick, casting harsh shadows upon the two combatants. “I counted six shots Ballad,” Kuzuru said, taking another step. A series of curved sabres, four in total, erupted from Kuzuru’s forearms, their points curved towards their green skinned target. “You’re out of ammo,” and with those words the demon broke out into a reckless sprint. “Not quite,” Ballad responded, and raised his left arm. With a flick of his wrist he produced what appeared to be a gunmetal grey flare gun. A quick squeeze of the trigger let loose the mother of all gunshots, deafening anyone within earshot. In a fraction of a second the massive slug rocketed from the barrel, dead-on for the demon’s chest. A sound, not unlike the shattering of fine china, resounded throughout the room as one of his four blades shattered into a million pieces. The demon was not abated.
Having participated in countless battles the demon had acquired a sort of sixth sense when it came to conflict. Before Ballad had even pulled the trigger Kuzuru’s battle sense was on red alert. With timing that could put an atomic clock to shame the demon predicated the path of the bullet and swiped at it. He managed to divert the .50 caliber bullet, and only for the meager cost of a single blade. With every gun empty Kuzuru was free to close the distance, and he did so with pleasure. There would be blood.
“I did not agree to your deal to simply be a spectator and stand idly by,” Agern’s voice boomed between Kuzuru’s ears.
Kuzuru sighed and retracted his blades into his arms. Nearby Ballad crawled to his feet, recovering from the earlier assault. The gunsmith wrapped green fingers around his pickaxe, hefting the weapon up onto his shoulder. He started to trudge towards his opponent, ready to bash the demon’s skull in. Kuzuru held up a finger and said, “wait a moment, can I call a timeout real quick?” An audacious request to be sure, and one that perturbed the approaching Ballad. Doing his level best to ignore the approaching threat Kuzuru turned his voice inward once more, “I’ll level with you Agern, if you don’t act up so daddy can kick this guy’s ass we can go get some ice cream afterwards, how does that sound lil’ guy?”
“Do not patronize me demon,” Agern responded, “I will personally see that Ballad is driven into dust, and you will not stop me.”
“Fine,” Kuzuru growled out loud, “have it your way.”
Ballad was now only a few feet away from his target, a few more steps and he’d be within striking distance. There was a change in the atmosphere, almost imperceptible, but Ballad noticed a slight shift in the demon’s posture. Like a drunkard after happy hour Kuzuru lurched forward, his feet performing a clumsy stumbling dance. Ballad took a cautious step back, and watched as his enemy continued to fumble forward. Swinging his weapon like a baseball bat Ballad aimed for Kuzuru’s bobbing head. In the split second before impact the demon’s eyes ignited like road flares, signaling Agern’s control of the body. Boom. The flat edge of the pickaxe collided with the side of Agern’s newly acquired face with a sound not unlike that of throwing a raw chunk of hamburger patty at a concrete wall. In a burst of blood, teeth, and plastic shade fragments Agern was thrown into a snowbank several feet away. It was only after the blast of viscera that Ballad realized Kuzuru intentionally threw himself into the swing.
“Hurts doesn’t it Agern?” Kuzuru’s voice thrummed in the depths of Agern’s aching cranium, “This is my fight, not yours, and I am not so proud that I won’t swallow the barrel of his revolver and eat lead just to keep your thieving mitts from taking what is mine, so either shut up and sit down or get ready for another trip to the dentist.” Without another word Agern relinquished his control over to Kuzuru. The smoldering fireballs in his eyes extinguished themselves.
Blotting out every last scrap of light Ballad towered over the downed demon. In a high arc Ballad swung his axe, hoping to crack open Kuzuru’s head like a melon in a Gallagher act. Schunk. The pick dug itself deep into the snowbank, having been dodged by only a few inches. Ballad looked upon his fallen foe and was met with a visceral smile. Shattered sunglasses hung uselessly from Kuzuru’s ear and the left side of his face was covered in blood. He grinned, showing off a bloodied set of chompers, half of them cracked or completely missing. Kuzuru was back and he was ready to rock baby. Braced against the snowbank Kuzuru pulled back his legs and kicked at Ballad’s sternum, the solid strike sent the gunsmith stumbling backwards gasping for air.
The demon peeled himself from the snowbank and stood, half of a grin still plastered across his face. Ballad’s pickaxe sat buried in the snow, abandoned by its owner, the demon couldn’t help but free it from its icy tomb. Thick bundles of muscle pulsed beneath burgundy skin as Kuzuru felt the weight in his hands. First swallowing a tablespoon of blood and then opening his mouth to speak the demon taunted, “you know, you really shouldn’t leave your toys lying around Ballad, someone might-” Muzzle flare, followed by a thunderclap interrupted Kuzuru mid-sentence. Something hot bit into the lower portion of his ribcage and he took a half-step back. Ah yes, bullets, how could he forget the most pernicious of weaponry? Kuzuru cast aside the pick, tossing it back into a slush of blood-covered snow. A “fuck you!” followed by another series of gunshots lit up their battlefield. Like a swarm of hornets each bullet tore into the demon, and every impact threw up a mist of red.
After the hail of bullets there was a moment of almost serene silence, the ghosts of each gunshot echoing throughout the chamber. “Six,” Kuzuru said, stepping towards Ballad. Between them sat the still-burning lump of wick, casting harsh shadows upon the two combatants. “I counted six shots Ballad,” Kuzuru said, taking another step. A series of curved sabres, four in total, erupted from Kuzuru’s forearms, their points curved towards their green skinned target. “You’re out of ammo,” and with those words the demon broke out into a reckless sprint. “Not quite,” Ballad responded, and raised his left arm. With a flick of his wrist he produced what appeared to be a gunmetal grey flare gun. A quick squeeze of the trigger let loose the mother of all gunshots, deafening anyone within earshot. In a fraction of a second the massive slug rocketed from the barrel, dead-on for the demon’s chest. A sound, not unlike the shattering of fine china, resounded throughout the room as one of his four blades shattered into a million pieces. The demon was not abated.
Having participated in countless battles the demon had acquired a sort of sixth sense when it came to conflict. Before Ballad had even pulled the trigger Kuzuru’s battle sense was on red alert. With timing that could put an atomic clock to shame the demon predicated the path of the bullet and swiped at it. He managed to divert the .50 caliber bullet, and only for the meager cost of a single blade. With every gun empty Kuzuru was free to close the distance, and he did so with pleasure. There would be blood.