Chapter 27

A Fair Man's Brawl P1.

The wooden shingles creaked from a raven’s talon perched upon it, advising me that spectators were afoot, eager to witness a spectacle of carnage. Carnage was an apt word for what was most likely to occur from this encounter. I had swallowed the rising vomit that hadn't yet all left my system, still remembering the nauseating odor of the rat carcass that had pathed me here to this decided quandary.

“Well? Where are you going off to?” The man repeated his question, less specific on his intentions, but clear to the two men beside him who were eager to start their part.

A dapple sweat streaked down my forehead from the silent tension, that was resonating from all participants in the cold thickening atmosphere of the night in Ebenfurth, hushed by wood shingles, and plastered clay.

“Off to trickle, my tinkle,” I said, my excuse repeated to Suzie earlier, now hollowed from its audacity to ply comedy into tension.

The bigger man, who I remember named Pog, gagged out into a burst of laughter. “Trickle my tinkle! Get it?” The man continued chortling until he got a crushing punch to the guts, which had made him cough and spit out saliva and dribble against his consternation.

“Shut it, Pog, we get it. Don’t make a fool of yourself.” The hoarse voice griped a bit peeved at the change of topic. I could tell, I had ruined the mood or lightened the tense atmosphere---that their so-called boss wanted to give off.

I have never thought I'd figure this in my tactics, but I’d never know if I didn't give it a go. With my high charisma stats, I had perceived I might be able to use my charms---to escape the ambush that was likely to spark.

“Come on fellas,” I said brazenly, tilting my analogs to signal an opened arm posed from Amelia. “Can’t a man have some privacy, to trickle his business?”

The Boss’s face had soured, whilst Pog, the bald dullard, had reasonably nodded to my common case. The other fellow, Trig, was also hesitant, to remark on my statement, clear to anyone who was witnessing that I made a rather good argument for being alone in the alleyway next to an Inn, close to midnight.

"All men should have their privacy to relieve themselves in the dark, without being accosted by some hooligans." I prattled on.

'nothing suspicious at all.'

“He has a point, Boss?” Pog thankfully pointed.

"It's suspicious, dare I say creepy, having a couple of gentlemen like yourself, hinder a fair man, who was about to sprinkle? I’m not accusing, No siree---but, a fair man could suggest that you sirs might get stimulated at that common of spectacle?"

The Boss’s face had reddened from my insinuation.

"I'm not judging of course. You do what you do.”

He then stepped back, aghast at the implication, forgetting the reason why he was here. As I continued on my rhetoric of the freedom to relieve oneself in the dark, the man's horrified expression went from disgusted to disdain in simmering comprehension.

‘Oh, shit, did I say too much?’

“I ain’t no, leaky voyeur, ” Trig argued, disgusted at the perceived concept.

“Draw your weapons.” The Boss cursed, “I had enough with introductions. We are the Bolt Five, we want your small folk and your baby.”

I stared at him, then directed my Mecha to open her arms, displaying nothing.

“Do you honestly think? That your statement in the tavern was not at all suspicious? You legit shouted your lie, in front of everyone, even a dullard like Trig, found it weird...Now, where is the child?”

Trig and Pog contemplated the conversation between us, befuddled at their Boss’s reasoning, albeit understanding the underlying tension that was budding back into the situation.

“Draw your weapons. You fools! ” The Boss repeated, cursing his subordinates to participate.

The Boss drew out a rapier lightning-quick--professional with its unsheathing. Moments later, Pog took out the war-hammer that was latched on his back, with a loose grip, familiar to the motions of the heavy chunk of iron. Trig though, hesitantly pulled up his spear that was tilted forward, up to show his preferred method of fighting.

I heard it then, a latch--clicking into a socket, and the thrum of tightly knotted ropes, rebounding. I spun just in time to see the spiral end of white feathers, piercing with a thud, through the right pauldron of my Mecha.

Panicked, I recalled that Wink was situated in that compartment. “Wink!” I shouted below, with my voice only audible inside the interior frame of the mecha.

After a moment, “I’m fine.” Wink nervously replied.

Relieved I turned back to face the humans waiting on me. They seemed to be expecting something, then I realized it, they were shocked that the bolt in my shoulder didn’t prompt the desired reaction from me. ‘Oh right!’

“Ahhhh! It hurts!” I screamed through the voice modifier, my tone not really conveying the pain--that I was feigning.

It was for naught, my charade wasn’t working, the men looked on with consternation at me and the wound, that I had feigned.

“Tiss not natural?” Pog aghast, comprehending my fake scream for what it was, a lie.

Not wishing them to inquire any further in their deliberations on my continued charade, I scripted Amelia to unsheathe the grass wrapped dagger that was holstered in my Mecha’s belt. I pressed a button to script a silent music box that was inside the right gauntlet’s compartment, instructing a single grass end to move out through one of the chain rivets; to then link to the end of a grass string that was tied atop the pommel of the dagger, creating a connection.

“What are you going to do with that small little pricker?” The Boss scoffed at my weapon of choice for the incoming brawl.

“Don’t you worry, my prick will extend,” I said, smugly.

We halted then, both realizing what we had both said, and at its perceived implication at the situation at hand. The Boss’s cheeks had blustered red, horrid at the imagery; while at my part, I took my palm to my face at the notion. Oona burst out laughing, still tipsy against all common reasons. You’d think the tension would sober her up, but all she's been doing was ranting about humans and giggling throughout this whole process.

“Get him! Not in a sexual way! But a physical way! Just-just get him!” The Boss directed, now sick and tired of the banter.

The two of his goons advance with their weapons at hand. No other way to postpone the violence, I pulled the lever for the tempo settings, up to 11. The grass wrapped dagger began to extend, sprang up by the recoil, the length of the blade went up a meter in height with the small tightly grass string, constricting its edges.

But this wasn’t the most astonishing gimmick of my grass made sword, it was the tempo that was linked into it. The cultivated steel grass wire was now taut at the edges, stretched out to then vibrate, quadrupling past the tempo that was set. Which made the grass strain tremor into a pulsating hum. A staple weapon in science fiction, I grinned.

All participants had paused at my contraption, not comprehending the awesome reason it was made for. They then continued on. Trig was the first to go, ready to pierce straight through the chest, where the baby was gratefully asleep. I shifted Amelia to the side, with the reaction time, two times as fast as a human, and the tempo to match it. With my right gauntlet attached with the vibrating grass sword, I swung. Like a hot knife cutting through a buttery slab, I chopped off the spear’s shaft.

Trig looked at his new ashwood cane with utter disbelief and horror. Pog barged past the agape man, to swing his war-hammer with an over shoulder angle. I replied by meeting the Iron flat with the sharp vibration of my grass sword. Similar to the ashwood, but slower in process, the vibrated edge of my grass sword, wiggle through the iron at 10,000 hertz, cutting the microscopic air pockets which undid the binding material of the metal.

Like a metal slab, the top half of the war-hammer fell down. It then landed, crushing the toes of the wielder who handled the wrought weapon. Pog comprehending the pain screamed with isolating agony, which made the ravens perched atop the wooden shingles flutter their feathers away, disturbed at the volume.

Annoyed at the racket, I lifted both my gauntlets aiming for both Trig and Pog’s faces. One was horrified, and the other was yelling in agony. I fired. Two barrages of combusting rockets exploded in both their faces, with the shrapnel piercing through the flesh of their face. Some even got through their eyes.

I then heard the meticulous sound of the thrum of the crossbow from the back of me. I flung the analog twigs to the side, just in time to avoid the whistling point of the bolt that was aimed for my helm. It was that nasally thin man who had shot me earlier. Gritting my teeth at the distance he had between me. I crouched down, and I activated my jump script, as the man was about to reload his crossbow again.

Amelia’s right leg sprang the compressed springs of the recoil, boosting her jump into the man’s direction. After the left spring recoiled, I was in front of him ready to do an over the shoulder swing, that would split the man into two. Spurred by the speed, and my growing urgency to protect my charge, I swung the vibro-blade to my utter horrification.

The vibrating edge went through the man’s shoulder and out the man’s left side, bisecting him in two. The wiggling sensation of the blade, made the blood spatter out as it had run through, spurting and staining the gleam of Amelia’s silver armor, to my nausea. The man’s pale complexion stared at me, and my mechanical visage, terrified and confused about his death. His eyes, asking me why, to my petrified face. The baby began to wail then, prompting my adrenaline addled mind back into the present. Art had been jostled inside the mecha, by the motions of the jumps I had action. The volume of the baby's cry came out from the visor but less in volume due to the secluded atmosphere of the greenhouse within the mecha.

The nasal man’s eyes went dim, who I had just recalled his name, Felix. His blank stare made me froze aghast at what I had done, as he slid off with his top half with a fleshy thump onto the ground---dead to the world.

Congratulations!

You Have Leveled Up!

+1 to Skill Points

‘No.’ The realization paused me. My impulsive and adrenaline inspired focus, made me commit something so surreal in its finality. I thought I’d do anything to protect my charge, but murder.

‘Why is it so easy to murder my problems away…? Am I not human? Has the fae inside me changed my moral perception? Did I just kill a human in this world for my trouble? I am already not human anymore, so why am I conflicted?’ I tensely paused all my actions as I continued on with my inner monologue, which was justifying the course of action I had just prosecuted.

“You monster! You’re no knight!” The Boss snarled hoarsely, aggrieved with one of his men’s death. The gruff man stiffly walked past his two recently blinded men as he prepared himself for violence. “You’re not even human!”

The man drew his pommel near his lips, and recited the word “Bolt.”

A blue spiral of lights sputtered out from the pommel of the rapier, spiraling around the blade. It was lightning. The rapier had an elemental binding on it, a goddess be damn enchantment. Beyond my moral dilemma and self-inspection, my eyes had widened at this and what this could forebode in the now escalated fight.

Then the man moved. He ran to me, with his sword pointed into a running pose. I had the time to comprehend the man’s enchanted sword for a moment. Of course, it makes sense, if Peb can bind elements into stones, then why can’t other races bind elements into their gear. The realization had struck me, dumbfounded at the repercussions this could interject into my mindset. It was so obvious, why hadn’t I truly considered this train of thought. It was so objectively sound, to surmise that bindings were a common concept, that to my pride, I thought myself clever in asking Peb to bind other elements into stone.

And then it hit me then. Lightning. My Mecha. The baby. If that blade scores a touch, the electricity could possibly course through the whole metal body of Amelia, frying anything inside of it into a crisp. Though I also have to factor the number of amps that enchanted rapier could deliver. nonetheless, I had surmised that it’d be enough to kill the child within the mecha.

My Knight mecha was practically a conductor to electricity if I think things clearly. The likely chance that the rapier might pierce through my armor and touch the ecosystem was high. It would prompt the electricity attached to the blade, to course through the biometric matter of the grass network. If anyone is in close parameters of the grass, they would most likely feel the effect of the voltage coursing through the grass. Maybe if I had added rubber as insulators. It could be enough to be an electrical retardant against the element. But it was too late to implement such a layering.

“Verdant hells.” I cursed. “I never think things through.”

I toggled my bloody Amelia to swirl to the side, dodging a piercing poke that was coursed with lightning at its tip. The only option I could see was cutting the blade with my vibrating grass sword, for only a tether of grass was linked between Amelia and the dagger. I just needed to get to the right position. I swayed back to avoid a follow-up, not yet ready to counter. I was too scared to be in physical contact with the lightning for the damage it could do to my grass links connected to the metal. Similar to an analogy of a car, when lightning strikes, which could damage the internal wiring within the metal frame to unresponsiveness. The risk was too much, especially if the blade pierced through into the grassroots network of the mecha.

One terrifying jolt could likely fry everyone inside the suit who was in touch with the grass network. The man took a deep step forward, which I tilted Amelia to jump to the side with the help of the recoils below. There was an opening for me to cut his rapier in half. I swung. Seeing my aim, the man's face twisted in confusion. I sliced through the blade of his Rapier, whilst untethering the grass links between the pommel and gauntlet, releasing the dagger from Amelia’s grip.

Three-quarters of the rapier’s blade fell onto the ground, with a resounding clink. My grass sword followed with a plantlike thud then a chink. I gave a wide grin at the man’s flabbergasted expression, at the destruction of his enchanted rapier.

I tilted my analog twigs to lift Amelia’s gauntlet to punch that expression off his face. Then something strange caught audible in my senses. A sizzling noise whooshing through the air. By my instincts, I pulled aside the analog twigs as quickly as my time augmented advantage could react. I shoved a pace away, just in time to dodge the blue spiraling thunderbolt that was bolting past.

Horrified at the near-death experience I just dodged, by the slither of a second, I turned to face a silhouette in front of the opened doors that had led me to this alleyway. There was a slanting man, with a tilted indigo wizard hat, attired with a similar colored leather coat. He was holding a staff with an opal fixed atop, shining blue in its radiance on his offhand, and on his right hand, he held the last sputterings of dancing electricity. He gave me a woozy chagrin, inebriated by his festivities.

“Hope I hadn’t missed the party?”