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Summer Wars: A Live Report Rip Off
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Chapter 17: Fanaticism Runs Into a Brick Wall
The rush of air demanded Durn’s attention. He glanced up with a curious expression as a metal T with pointed edges raced just over his head. Another man might have ducked, but he calmly tracked its flight, before directing his gaze to the direction in which the projectile had come.
Standing at the far end of the alley was a rather peculiar looking man. Crisscrossed with scar and heavily muscled, the man’s chest was bared. Durn frowned. The newcomer was wearing simple cloth pants, but it was the strange helmet, like something an astronaut would wear, and oversized round rimmed glasses that caught his attention.
“Who are you supposed to be?” Durn called as he unsheathed his sword. He knew they would come, though he had not expected the first challenger to arrive so soon.
“My name doesn’t matter,” the man intoned.
“Why is that?”
“Knowing my name won’t serve you any better when you’re dead.” Durn threw his hands in the air.
“Why does everyone have to be so difficult. You want to kill a king, but you won’t even tell him your name. What kind of deal is this?” The man adjusted his grip on his rifle.
“DieuCure,” he snapped.
“Was that so hard?” There was no reply. Neither spoke for a moment. “You wanted to kill me, right? What are you waiting for?” The first gunshot came before Durn had finished speaking. His blade was a blur as Durn charged forward, deflected bullets made little sparks as they careened into the walls on either side.
DieuCure, to his credit, did not flee. He held his ground, constantly firing, even as Durn drew dangerously close.
“My lord. my father. I give to you devotion so that you will give unto me your strength,” he shouted over and over, his voice more thundrous than the burst of gunfire. With a final lunge, Durn reached him. The rifle swung round, but the king was too fast, his blade sang as it split the air. Metal segmented DieuCure’s spine and his head bounded into the air, space helmet and all. The rifle fell silent, the headless corpse slumped to the ground. Durn inspected it with a sneer. It was the first of many and hardly a challenge. More would come, hopefully one worthy of his strength. Durn sheathed his sword and started walking. Yes, more would come.
Chapter 18: One For the Good Guys
The poacher lay half submerged in the swamp water. Flies were already attending the the bleeding corpse, eager for a feast. Now that the gun shots had quieted, the birdcalls had returned to the air. Solar had never spotted the Scarlet Scarlett, but the bird was out there somewhere, safe and sound because of him.
The dead man’s name had been Opisska. He was loud, bordering on incoherent. His Eastern European accent had been thick, a sure sign that he was not one of King Durn’s underlings. That didn’t mean there weren’t others out there who were. Just because the Scarlet Scarlett was safe at the moment, didn’t mean it would be forever. He couldn’t rest on his laurels because of some minor victory. Neglect was how birds ended up dead.
He’d stick around the swamp for another day or so, but he’d eventually have to head west to get to the root of the problem. Everything started in Paris, so that was where he’d have to go. It was the only way the birds would be safe. Even if Durn wasn’t responsible, usurping this throne would allow Solar to pass the strictest anti-poaching laws known to man, punishable by death.
His bosses wouldn’t sanction a job like this, so he’d be all on his own. The mission was incredibly dangerous. It could very well be him impersonating Opisska when all was said and done. Still, if he wasn’t prepared to die, he’d never succeed. Some things were worth taking risks for.
Chapter 19: Ummm
Elentos enjoyed a leisurely day in Berlin in which he visited a rather pleasant cafe and had a plate of currywurst for dinner.
Chapter 20: Is a Conversation Too Much to Ask?
One second he’d been walking down the street, just minding his own business, trying to figure out if one could realistically hang posters on a ceiling. In hindsight he could have been paying a tad more attention to his surroundings though. Next thing he knew, Mizenhauer had bumped into another pedestrian. He glanced up meaning to apologize, but the murderous glint in the man’s eyes told him a simple I’m sorry wouldn’t get him anywhere. He held that glare, matching it in intensity as his hand strayed to his waist where his modified candy bong sat in its holster.
It was always polite to ask someone’s name in a situation like this. The reply was little more than a hiss straining through bared teeth; Topin. It was clear that Topin wasn’t from around here. Frankly he looked like a complete mess. Mizenhauer had somewhere to be and he wasn’t into being waylaid, but he’d be remiss if he didn’t spread the good word of Twice. He never got the opportunity.
Mizenhauer sauntered down the empty street. It was amazing how a bit of blood sent people scattering. Topin’s fist had smashed into his cheek, but Mizenhauer’s candy bong did far worse before Topin could grab his gun. Motorized spikes extended, shearing through Topin’s skull like a chainsaw. The aforementioned blood sprayed everywhere which predictably caused a big hullabaloo. Now he was here, all alone as police sirens wailed in the background. They wouldn’t be a problem, he’d be gone long before they arrived. What really rankled him was that he never got a chance to explain why Momo’s superior body and dancing skills ranked her above Lisa. Oh well, there was always another chance.
Writer: Mizenhauer
Editor: The Spirit of Tzuyu, Durn
Graphics: Hexhaven
