EPT![[image loading]](https://i.imgur.com/fjDJqhF.png)
Summer Wars: A Live Report Rip Off
Read More:
Chapter 29: Shake the rust off
Durn brought his sword up just in time to parry another blow, wincing as the impact reverberated through his arm. This was going far worse than he’d expected. His opponent was a mountain of a man. All muscle and rage, his hands gripped a pair of meat cleavers big enough to slice a man in half. There was a rush of air as they crashed towards him like comets plunging earthward. Durn weaved and parried again and again, but the assault kept coming.
Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t bad. Durn thought to himself. At his best, this wouldn’t have even been a contest, but Durn wasn’t used to this fighting thing anymore. His limbs moved as if they were encased in quicksand. His mind felt like it was frozen in some 7/11 slushie permafrost. As much as he hated to admit it, this was starting to go really poorly. If Durn were going to escape from this duel with his life, he’d have to make something happen fast.
He changed his grip and dipped his shoulder. His opponent stepped back and responded with a probing strike that Durn dashed aside. Everything slowed for a moment as Durn launched himself forward. He could make out individual beads of sweat as he neared his target. All sound faded as he studied the wide eyed look on his opponent’s face, drawing his foe’s attention away from the tip of his sword. He traced the arc made by those twin cleavers as his raced past them.
The moment past and time caught up, snatching the stillness away like a jealous lover. Durn roared as his blade found purchase. It bit hard and true, straight through bone and flesh. There wasn’t even a scream, just a gurgling sound, as the dead man’s body slumped to the pavement. Durn let out a chuckle. S!@t. He was really out of shape.
Sitting on a throne wasn’t exactly the best exercise it turned out. This man had nearly overpowered him, but there were greatest threats still roaming the streets of Paris. Luolis was out there somewhere. Durn could feel his greatest foe’s presence. He had known from the start that it would end this way. He and the Finn, one on one on the palace steps while the city burned. It wasn’t a matter of if. It was a matter of when.
Durn had long since realized that there could never be peace while both he and Luolis lived. While he might rationalize that this contest had been to satisfy some selfish sense of sport, the blood of so many men had been spilled for a single reason. Durn and Luolis would decide the fate of the world between them. It was destiny.
Durn took a seat, sighing as he settled onto the ground. Luolis would come. Of that he was certain. The only thing to do was wait.
Chapter 30: Hell, it’s about time
This wasn’t even a fight. Luolis didn’t even glance back as he left his latest victim behind. He stalked down the empty promenade, escorted by the buildings burning on either side. Not a soul would witness his ascent, but that wasn’t what was important. Up ahead the castle loomed. The man who waited for him there was what was important. Ending Durn’s life was all that mattered.
A smile formed on Luolis’ lips. The scent of seared flesh and coppery blood was so heavy he tasted it in his throat. It was hot as all hell. The air was so stiff with humidity every inhalation was a struggle. The setting sun cast long shadows. Leering demonic visages danced over the street, witnesses to his ascension.
He had dreamed of this moment so many times, but it had never been this sweet. His axe had been whetted, his fury was stoked. His goal lay just ahead. The street had widened the grand staircase had come into view. Marble steps with statues of conquering heroes on either side. And there, sitting alone amid the destruction, was Durn.
It was time to claim revenge. Luolis had reached the first step, Durn had risen to his feet. They stood there for a moment, neither saying a word. Enough! It was time to end this! Luolis charged.
Writer: Mizenhauer
Editor: The Spirit of Tzuyu
Graphics: Hexhaven
