The Book Keeper VS The Cereal Killer - Round 1
Well, burst his berries! How had his foe gotten all the way up there? And unscathed, no less! Truly, it seemed this man would be more of a challenge than he’d expected, if he could find his way to the top of the colosseum with no harm done. He only wondered how had he outplayed Serhan’s ingenious traps; most other men would have wound up peeled, but then in a tournament like this, “most other men” were not the standard, himself included.
Speaking of which, he had the means to find out exactly how he’d dealt with Serhan’s traps: drawing out the journal he’d won after defeating his former rival with a low
’Omnomnomnom!’ to himself, he opened it up to the fourth page or so, flicking past his own entry, past Serhan’s and past the announcer’s drone, and began to read up on the man called Motley Crue.
Meanwhile, Motley remained deathly still up in the stand, slightly occupied with his own predicament. Directed Aggression Suspension… he figured that was one aspect of control, but did the phylacteries really not grant him control over his former enemy’s actions? He’d been so sure… still, as long as she never found out, she’d have no reason to question his orders. Then again, if he couldn’t fend off this… gentleman... he wouldn’t be giving her orders in the future. And what was he doing down there, anyway? Reading something, from the look of things? The pirate would lose out far sooner than the vampire, if his plan was to stall him out, but something told Motley that might not be what Runch was doing at all.
Think like the Stand user you are, fool, he reminded himself.
What possible reason would somebody want to read just before a battle? The answer came to him in moments: analysis. But surely Bartholomew wasn’t capable of figuring Motley out so easily… unless… unless the book was an artifact like the oddly-shaped lighter of his…
The full magnitude of his mistake hit him as his phylactery piped up again:
’A real vampire, eh? Drinking blood like cereal milk, no doubt, and with powers as diverse as raspberry “ripple” on top! Omnomnomnom!’ So he was analyzing him after all. And like a fool, Crue had let Runch take full advantage of his artifact to suss him out. Chances were, he now knew the ins and outs of Motley’s persona and abilities, down to the precise distance at which Heavy Fuel cut out… and he’d be very lucky if that was as far as the book’s power went, for if it could
change aspects of his being on top of that, the fight was as good as over already.
Luckily, it seemed this wasn’t the case, as the journal was returned to Runch’s coat soon afterward. A distant yell of
’Bori Bori Jet!’ reached him as Runch began levitating into the air at some speed, quickly reaching the height Motley had ascended to. And yet, far from taking advantage of this, the captain instead hovered over toward the stand, allowing himself to land in a shower of beige processed grains in front of Motley. Not that Crue was going to give him any more hints, but surely Runch had learned that his opponent wasn’t quite as mobile in air as himself?
’Well, Motley,’ Runch said, a great grin on his mustachioed face,
’I imagine it’d be easier to eat a sack of lemons than to fight you, but I have a wish to fulfil, and no plans of being stopped! Though since I try not to kill my enemies, perhaps I can make you part of the “Crue” afterwards? Omnomnomnom!’ Frankly, the vampire was a juicy wellspring of puns, surprisingly few of which were even fruit related. They were still very funny, naturally, but not quite suited to his theme. Or at least, he’d thought they were funny. From the dead-eyed gaze the Book Keeper was giving him, he apparently had different ideas.
’Not one for jokes, I suppose?’ Bart asked, his smile only faltering a little.
’I’ll try my best to berry them, then, even if I think they’re sub-lime! Omnomnomnom!’’Are you trying to annoy me?’ the vampire asked, his stare slowly verging toward mild consternation.
’No, of course not! Why would I do that?’ the captain reassured his enemy.
’If anything, I’d be most upset if I gave the blue-berries to a future ally.’’Keep talking like that, and I’ll kick you in the blueberries.’’Omnomnomnom! A good start, though perhaps a bit dry, like a freshly-poured bowl of cereal. I’ll make a fine pirate out of you yet!’’How about I become your new captain instead? In fact, let me rephrase: I’m becoming your new captain.’ The surety with which Crue murmured this was a tad unsettling to the seaman, but nonetheless didn’t sway his resolve. From what he’d read about the vampire, he seemed the kind of person to take advantage of lulls in attention, which meant that his apparent hesitation now was the perfect time to strike.
’We’ll see, my friend! Bori Bori Cannonball!’ Runch called, extending a hand out toward his foe. From it, an oversized sphere of crunchy cereal goodness launched toward Motley, a shell with the density of iron, and yet the structural integrity of glass, surrounding many tiny spheres of explosive Hellberry pellets inside, ready to blow the cannonball apart as a solid hit was achieved. Knowing what he did about Crue, K. Runch certainly felt he could go all-out against him, just so long as he avoided his brain - after all, the time it took him to reassemble himself if dismembered would surely be more than sufficient to claim the souls within his phylactery at that moment.
Motley moved with preternatural speed - not to avoid the cannonball entirely, as Runch had expected, but instead to shift his hand into the cannonball’s path, to catch it, and then to spin himself round with the projectile’s momentum, only to sling the orb back toward its progenitor, still armed and dangerous. And yet, the angle at which he’d thrown it seemed quite odd from the pirate’s perspective, and evading the hit was rather too easy for how hard it had been slung...
Distracted by his own attack, he almost failed to notice the sound of a tripwire snapping, and two crossbows firing after that. Two bolts had been fired, aimed at where a human head ought to have been if the trap had triggered as intended. Instead, they were snatched with impossible precision by the vampire they’d been intended for, then hurled towards Runch as quickly as they’d been flying before. The movement barely left Runch time to defend himself; with a yell of
’Bori Bori Wall!’, he began to create a rectangular pellet to defend himself with, one that grew quickly enough to catch one of the bolts, embedding it deeply in its surface.
The other bolt struck his right shoulder, passing through the meat almost completely before coming to a halt. A hiss of pain escaped through Runch’s teeth, but nothing more: he’d had far worse injuries inflicted upon him in the past, not least of which had been dealt out by Serhan just yesterday. And besides, if Motley thought he’d done Runch a mischief, he’d not realise just how much mischief he was about to get up to.
The wall he was creating continued to expand, filling the entire pathway between the two fighters, and growing to a height and depth that were frankly unnecessary.
Less of a wall, Motley decided,
and more of a block. What’s he playing at?’Omnomnomnom! Behold, Motley, a wall of cereal bigger than an orchard, made of my special Apple Crush recipe!’ the captain crowed from behind the block, seemingly needing to yell a little just to be heard. Rolling his eyes, the vampire made to begin climbing up its length by grabbing the bolt still lodged near the bottom, only to be halted as the arrow simply came away, a section of the wall collapsing away with it.
’Did I mention how crumbly this recipe is?’ Runch added.
’It’s designed for young children to enjoy, as well as people who don’t like scraping up the roof of their mouth! That’s a worse feeling than finding half a worm in your apple! Omnomnomnom!’ Motley wondered if he was being mocked at this point, but held back on his observations to consider the situation. Apparently, climbing the wall was impossible, since it’d just crumble away… but then, that was exactly it. If it was so crumbly, he’d just be able to dig through it! He discarded the bolt, and made to begin the less-than-arduous task of digging through a pile of processed grain.
He stopped himself before his hand reached it, pulling away just a little at the image of grain he’d conjured up. Why would the good captain bother mentioning the wall’s crumbly nature, if that was something Motley would figure out for himself? It was as if he were emphasising it, even encouraging the need to burrow through it… and it occured to Motley that, if a wall of this size were to collapse, he might wind up buried underneath it… the vampire chuckled to himself under his breath. Of course, of course. And he had named it “Apple Crush”, after all. It couldn’t be more obvious.
Assured that he had foiled the captain’s plan, Motley instead pressed the tips of his fingers upon the surface of the block, Heavy Fuel generating a thin layer of oil for the Ripple to pass through, adhering Motley to the surface of the cereal, and allowing him to ascend upward. It didn’t take long for him to reach the peak of his climb, and he threw himself over the edge, flipping into a crouch on t-
There wasn’t a top to land on. There was a slope, a very very deep slope that Motley hadn’t planned for. And at the bottom, Captain K. Runch stood, aiming a pistol directly at him. This time, there wasn’t a fancy attack name. Just a bullet, fired into the left hand side of Motley’s gut.
’Kuaa-! What the hell?!’’Gotcha! Hellberry Blast!’Oh.
A strangled scream erupted from Motley’s mouth at the same time as the explosion tore through his body, mangling many of his internal organs and almost tearing his abdomen in half. If the blast had struck his thorax as intended, it would certainly have been curtains for him, as there’d be no way he could regenerate his lungs in time to keep supporting his own resistance to the Sun. Or, at least, immobilising him long enough for Runch to take his soul and the victory. As it was, most of his intestinal tract had been obliterated, the lower half of his left lung was shredded to uselessness, and most of the organs in the abdominal cavity were severely burnt at best. A lethal injury to any normal fighter.
To Motley, a temporary inconvenience. With the supreme control he had over his bodily functions, he forced the functional parts of his lungs to continue breathing in the correct pattern, to generate the Anti-Ripple within his body and Heavy Fuel as it materialised as wisps around his body, amplifying his usual regeneration to an impossible degree. Rolling down the slope even as it collapsed beneath him, though, he faked the suggestion that Runch had put him down, seeming to go limp, as if encouraging the pirate to approach.
And it worked, somehow. Falling into the pile of Apple Crush cereal as it disintegrated, he watch Runch approach with the same stupid grin he’d had on the whole time, the gun returning to his coat pocket, and the words
’I was never fond of that recipe, myself. I always found it a bit spicy for my taste! Omnomnomnom!’ leaving his lips.
That’s right, laugh it up, pirate, Motley thought angrily to himself.
It doesn’t matter how much power you have at range, you’ve got to get close to me in order to get at my phylactery. There’s nothing you can do to stop me from retaliating at that range if you don’t kill me. You just don’t know it yet. As for how he’d retaliate, well, he had something in mind.
Half-buried in the cereal now spilling down the sides of the colosseum’s walls, Crue watched through half-lidded eyes as Runch stood over his body, leaning down to either pull him from the mess or take his phylactery. He remained limp, motionless as if knocked unconscious from shock and pain, until Runch had both hands on his shoulders to haul him up. Then, he moved - one hand clamped itself round Runch’s neck, the other slammed straight into his face, crushing his nose practically flat, and with a loud
’WOOORYYYYA!’ began to pass a powerful electrical current between them, electrical burns showing on the skin between the two points where the circuit completed almost immediately.
If he had his way, Motley would have held his foe until he fell unconscious, but he could see that Runch was, somehow, barely affected by the electricity coursing through his muscles, already moving one hand as if to counter the attack. A tough nut, then. Before that eventuality, Motley simply hurled the cereal chef away, sending him tumbling along the length of the stands, until he came to a stop in somewhat of a pile of bruised person. To his credit, he seemed otherwise okay. That wouldn’t last long, not after he’d shown how much of a threat he could be with sufficient preparation. Not when one attack had left a hole in Motley’s stomach that was still healing. He needed putting down, and fast.
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