Everything went murky after the golems exploded. A function of the recent head trauma, he figured. Had there been an onlooker more concerned with him than the dying stone constructs or the oncoming tide of yelling warriors, they probably would have been concerned by the way he swayed uneasily on his feet. His stupor didn't last long, however. One over zealous sway and the ground was suddenly rising up to meet him. As Fletcher crumpled to the ground, Isaiah's voice flooded with an abnormal amount of emotion over the mic.

"Fletch? Dammit answer me. If you're playing some kind of joke, this isn't funny. You need to get up, the kings are closing the distance rather quickly and I can't take out all of them!"

At first there was no response. Three seconds passed and then five. It wasn't until the twelfth second after Isaiah's outburst that Fletcher slowly regained consciousness fully. At that point, one of the king front runners was already within striking distance of Fletcher's disheveled body. Fortunately, a slug was already in the air. 

The sturdy syringe tip pierced the king's flesh nicely. It was a good shot and the needle was lodged between two ribs. The king stumbled to the side as the impact jarred him. He heard no gunshot. If he'd been hit with a bullet he'd most likely be on the ground. No gun shot rounds that slowly. Yet, there it was sticking out of his chest, a strange looking cylinder. By the time he had figured out what had happened to him, the Anti-Alchemical payload had already been delivered and the poison was coursing through the king's bloodstream. He began to feel a bit woozy. In the time for his brain to process all that had happened, three-quarters of a second had already gone by. 

That's when he heard the gunshot.

The shaped charge detonated and propelled the lead slug into his chest cavity. There was inside of the casing was not rifled so at first impact with flesh the slug's trajectory went haywire. It flipped and spun, cracking the backside of three ribs and shredding a large portion of his left lung. The internal injuries wouldn't matter much, however, because the exit wound spelled death to even the most amateur coroner. The entry wound may have been relatively small but everything to the left of his spine was gone. The heavier chunks flopped to the ground nearby but the majority of the spray delicately showered the king's former allies.

[i]Well that's one down[/i] 

The sound of the secondary explosion brought Fletcher fully back into the land of the living. Just in time to block an oncoming blow directed at his shoulder. He brought his left hand, curled into a first, up and punched the inner forearm behind the oncoming swing. The king's arm fluttered as the jab applied counter-force. Fletcher was on his feet now. As his foe reeled, he planted a kick into the man's sternum, depositing him in the dirt. Unfolding a blade with his right hand, he drove it through the man's wrist and buried it in the ground. 

The king let out a grunt of pain that brought a smile to Fletcher's eyes. 

"Don't worry sweetie, mommy's here," the king's eyes looked around wildly for help but his allies were all engaged in fights of their own.

"I know it's scary, just close your eyes." 

"Hey, fuck you!" A flash of anger crossed his face as the man's eyes remained open. As quickly as it had come, the look subsided.

"What am I thinking, here let mommy help you," Fletcher's voice lowered in volume substantially as he chanted. When he was done there was a flash of light in front of the king's eyes, burning his retinas and rendering him blind.

"Wha? What's happening?!" the king's panic was like music to Fletcher's ears. No matter what he may be saying or doing, his eyes always betrayed his inner thoughts. And his eyes looked hungry for blood.

"That's much better. With your eyes closed, it's like nothing scary is happening at all,"

"That's fucking creepy man, if you're gonna kill me just do it. Cut the psycho shit,"

"Where on earth did you learn such foul language? We've talking about this sweetie. You know the punishment for having a dirty mouth,"

Fletcher pulled the knife out of the man's wrist and lopped off both of his hands and feet with the blade. A brief surge of alchemy coursed from his fingertips as he finished signed with his fingers and left the new wounds cauterized. He flipped the weakened king onto his stomach and drove two of his throwing spines through the man's shoulders and into the dirt, pinning him. With his left hand Fletcher grabbed a tuft of the man's hair. The man mouth opened involuntarily as his hair was pulled. Fletcher's right hand quickly darted in and grabbed hold of the man's tongue.

"The punishment should fit the crime, I always say! If you've got a dirty tongue, it only makes sense that we scrub it out with soap." Fletcher drove his blade through the man's tongue and into the dirt. A muddled shriek escaped from the man's lips before he bit down in pain, severing his tongue completely. The fake kindness on Fletcher's face dissipated instantly.

"Fuck it all! You ruined everything asshat," He snatched up his blade from the dirt and cleanly severed the king's brain stem. The cries subsided immediately. "I guess he never played house as a kid,"