Post your stories here
 

Well, since there is a post your sketches thread I figured we should have one for stories, and since I couldn't find a thread already made I decided to start one. If there already is one just close this or do whatever you admin type guys do in situations like this.

I figure I should post a story first so here it is.


The heavy tread of booted feet follow her down the twisted allies and streets of the city slums. She moves with a lithe grace that reminds those who are still out and about to see her flight of a deer in motion, bounding through the snow with regal head held on high while the huntsmen and their dogs pursue. The image is shattered however, when the first gaurdsman turns the corner and shouts "Thief", along with many other words and phrases too vulgar by far for the eyes of the maidens who may behold this tale.

The chase wears on as both the thief and the gaurdsmen grow wearier and wearier. But quickly lady luck turns the tables on the poor young thief, for in her path stands Orlando, captain of the king's gaurds. She knows she is caught. Even as she makes the turn into the alleyway, ducking the low hanging tavern sign. Desperation lends strength to her exhausted legs, but it is no match for the great strength of Orlando, yet he fails to catch her. For when he puts on a burst of speed, hoping to end the chase quickly, she to runs even faster. Soon they are moving at a break-neck pace that can only end in disaster, and sure enough it does. The corner of crate, half hidden in the shadows catches her leg, tripping her, and in that moment Orlando is upon her. Strong arms pinion her own arms behind her back, leaving her unable to resist but to yell insults and curses at her captor. But to no avail. Come the morrow she shall either lose a hand, or dance at the end of the hangman's noose. She is sure to get the latter, especially when it is the king's gold signet ring that she has stolen. So goes the life of a thief in the city of sanctity. :thief:

Not sure if you mean just random short stories or what... so I'm linking to all the fanfics and stuff I have up all over the web.

Ikiiri
Blood and Honor
Sialla and Idi
A Day in the Lives...
Diary of a man... long not a soldier.
A collection of short stories on my website.
Birth of a God
Of Love and Betrayal (WIP)
The Unforgiven (WIP)

There's another WIP FF6 fanfic I've got going, but it's on the CoN there (linked in last two) buried in the Submissions subforum. It's the "Where it all Began" series (or WiaB at the front and subtitled). Also got a few other stories on hold, but I've taken them off the 'Net for now.

Here's something I wrote in a writing workshop, based off a true story of my friends and I. It's called "The Perfect Friday."

As I got off the city bus at the very last stop, a light breeze kicked up. The air was crisp and fresh and it was just cold enough to see your breath. It was the perfect Friday. I ran into the house, deposited my bag and yelled, “I’ll be outside!” as I closed the door behind me. Running to the next house over, I rapped on the door. Yoni opened, his brown hair disheveled as usual, hanging over his eyes and accentuating his dark skin. “Yoni, get everyone, it’s a perfect day.” Nodding slowly, he walked down the street knocking on doors. Soon, teenagers emerged, rubbing their eyes at the sight of natural light, and throwing on coats and hats half-hazardly. The sound of garage doors opening and equipment scraping echoed down the street. I opened mine with a heave and dragged out my net and gear. As around 12 boys and girls converged upon my position, I slipped on my pads as Yoni set up the nets.

The teams were made rather hastily, all of us eager to get going. By that time parents had come out onto their steps and porches, abandoning their work and watching us with hushed approval. Younger siblings stood on sidewalks, jumped rope, and cheered us on. Finally, all was ready after a half-hour of pained anticipation and preparation. I got in front of my net and took a deep breath, savoring the cold air as it passed into my lungs. This was going to be great. As the ball dropped and the game began, parents now got into the swing of things by cheering us on. Teammates ran up and down the street with the intensity and fire of seasoned players. Potholes were stepped in, rocks were tripped over, but all that mattered was getting that ball into that net.

An hour passed like 10 minutes, and by this time coats and hats were now thrown off to the side in favor of t-shirts and sweat. Girls were elbowing boys as they frantically scraped for the ball. The game was hitting a fevered pace when the snow began to fall. Huge, wet clumps of white fell in torrents. The parents and young children had all retired into the warm confines of their homes, but the game wore on. Visibility was hitting zero and a wind picked up, but the game wore on. Shoes and socks were soaked and hats were buried under piles, but the game wore on. And when all was said and done, when a victor had been crowned, only then did our fire subside. Slowly, despairingly, we dragged the nets back and dug out our coats. With a final, silent farewell, we all went back to our respective houses.

As I walked into my house, my hair, clothes, and face soaking wet, my father came to greet me. “How was the game?”

“The usual.”

My best friend and I post a new short story every week here. In a way, it is fanfic for a fantasy novel no one else has ever read. I'd post the latest story here, but there are cultural footnotes that would be a pain to relink from here.

This is the first chapter of a story of mine which I haven't quite edited and refined yet. It's about a swordsman in a great lineage of great warriors, known as the Fire Demons for their strength and magical prowess with fire. Kings is an original amongst this lineage, as everyone else is kind, polite, humble, and wise, which kings isn't. By the way, I enjoy displaying murphy's law, if you've read the 8-bit fan-fic of mine

King's story starts in the town of Nyet. Ironically it's name is german for the word no, which Kings is hearing quite frequently. as in: "NO! I'll not travel with you for another blasted mile!" "NO! You can't enter the city until you pay five gold!" "NO! I needn't another idiot to work for food!" and of course "NO! It's 10 pieces of gold an hour!"

Kings was broke. You see, in every Pyrosian's life, there comes a time when he realizes that money is worthless, and the lustful things bought with it are also equally worthless. Kings had yet to reach that point. Normally, money wouldn't be a problem, usually a hand good with a sword was worth something. But now, in the recent days of Peace, where the great king Remiel ruled with justice and worked for the good of all, swords were rarely needed.
No band of thieves, no assassins, no peddlers of ill-gotten wares and corruption dared to cast shadows upon Remiels bright kingdom. For his punishment was swift, and fitting. Remiel even went out of his way to solve disputes, and his great wisdom created bonds between rival families. He asked that the only weapons made be stout spears with tiny blades, or even wooden weapons be mainly used, even for his army, and had them all trained to use them efficently. He banned all other weapons from large cities and the like, and possessors of such items are easily branded to be ne'er do wells.

"So we have no need for scum like you!" a local travel agency proclaimed, as they flung him out forcefully. "I need to get out of this place!" Kings thought as he gathered himself off the ground. He had no money for food and the like, and was in a country where swordsmen weren't wanted. Particularly him, as he had some officials looking for him over some unpaid bills of rum and meals, and his settling the dispute with his sword.

At the moment he was in guise, he cut his hair and changed his eye color with special techniques, he didn't feel the need to use his transformation powers. Besides he needed his clothes to fit. He had also the misfortune of being caught settling matters with his sword while wearing his armor and swordsman attire, being fairly memorable with it's ornamental metal engravings and his family's crest upon it in gold. His sword too was out of the ordinary with it's forked end and red shade, seemingly burning as he swung it about, the flametongue.

He had to hide them in a nearby bush after seperating from Lev, a travel "companion". Lev had seen him hunt and kill a wild bear with his bare hands, then cook and feast upon 50.lbs of it's flesh, and didn't think it a good idea to be near such a man. At the moment he was wearing the simple rags he wore under his armor, filthy from being covered in sweat and blood. Kings found it insulting how he looked, little better than a common indentured servant for one of the more less caring masters. It was starting to get to him.
Him, great warrior in a great line of great warriors, each as equally noble and honorable in every right, having to sleep on the streets in filth without food. Sure, he could sell his armor and sword for a great amount of gold, but that would be utter disgrace! They were family heirlooms, passed down from generation to generation,the armor having been decorated in honor of being worn bythe great warrior Degas during his battle with the great evil that nearly controlled the world, and the sword carved from the redhair of his great grandfather. Such treasures were all he had, and he wasn't about to just toss them away even for food.

Kings trudged along the street. "Perhaps I should camp out in the wilderness again. Bear meat isn't too bad." he thought to himself. He booted a nearby rock. The rock sailed smoothly into a nearby glass windowpane, nocking over a candle setting the curtain ablaze, which a maid quickly splashed a bucket of water, sending some spare water out the window, dousing a trader selling a bottle of fine wine to the owner of the house who dropped the bottle and it rolled along the street. Which a barefoot man accidently walked across and tripped over, scaring a cat, which dashed away hunting dogs to give chase, whose masters followed, straight into a house of an established individual, who had a large ceremonial room filled with ornamental weapons. The dogs ran in and knocked many tables over, causing a sword to fall out the window, where it ricochet'd of a roof and hit a fence with it's blade, cutting it in two, unleashing the farm animals contained within. When the prison guard went to see what the ruckus was, he was overran by cows and his keys bounced over near a convict who then took freedom and hastily escaped. The convict then ran to the stable for the noble's horses and attempted to coerce one to ride, the horse disagreed and bucked him off, breaking a wall and letting the horses go free, and all these animals were running around the town causing mayhem, some drunkards came out and started breaking everything in sight, which the city guards started to try and calm things down , getting into a brawl with the drunkards, then some rival families blamed each other and fought to the death, then The Batosai came to fight some guy with thin eyes, only to be abducted by aliens and then godzilla attacked. Kings slowly began to tiptoe out of town.

"Uh, my bad?"

When Kings left what was left of the town, he returned to where he stashed his shield and armor. Just as he removed it from under the bush where he left it, he noticed the area had changed a bit. "You there!" An important sounding voice called out from behind him. He turned around, and stared into the eyes of none other than the king's most decorated General. From 3 inches away. Kings jumped back instinctively. "Are you the owner of these weapons and armor?" Kings picked up his sword hilt readily. "And what if I am?" "Are you also the mercenary by the name of Kings, reported to be in this area?" "Why?" "I have a request from the King for you."

The man pulled out a piece of folded parchment, marked with the king's seal. "For my arrest?" "Unless the fate of the nearby village was of your doing, which it better not, I'm here to offer you employment by his majesty." Kings snatched the letter from the General. it read:

Honorable Mercenary,
Your country has need of your abilities, even in this time of peace. I am aware that as of late there is no earning of a living for being a hired sword. I know that without suitable use of your talents, you have a need to let loose your frustration and end up performing terrible crimes in your restlessness. You are probably wanted for multiple crimes against your government, and are having trouble supporting yourself. What I intend to tell you is that you're skill need not go to waste, and be put to use for the good of the country. I am willing to grant full amnesty, and pay gold to mercenaries who answer my call for a important job. Do not be selfish, for you are also working for the well being of your nation. I reequest that you would come to the city of Mizuho, and accept the job immediately. Time is of the essence. Your own, and Your nation's.

Signed by
King Remiel

Kings read the letter, then double read it. "So how much are we talking here?" he asked the general. "You will learn the amount when you have accepted the job." "How can I be sure this is not a trick? It certainly seems too good to be true." "Then don't accept it. It matters not to me. But if you do, I have suitable transportation to Mizuho." Jeremy read the letter again. He looked up to the sky. After a minute, he put the letter into his pocket. "What the heck, I'll go." "Very well then, follow me." The general nodded and walked towards an oxen drawn wagon. "Yeah... Suitable." He said with a shrug and headed after him.

Hired Hand
 

James knew his mission was going to go sour once he took the job. The event played over and over in his head:
"James sir, if you sign the bottom line we can complete the transaction of the funds you need. One thing not on the contract is that if you get killed on this mission we take no responsibility." "Just great, knowing even in my death I'm not worth caring about." "Don't worry sir, your chances of dying on this mission are slim to nil." "Even with those chances something tends to go wrong." "You have no need to worry James, just be on your way." "Thanks for your support, hope your right."
End of event.

James took the job as guardsman of a prison transport. What he knew was right. Something had gone terribly wrong.

While riding on his assigned horse, the transport spilled over dropping the prisoner out. With his temporary freedom the prisoner ran for it knocking several passerby's along the way. The man broke his shackles and ran for the nearest weapons shop. The guards along with James ran after the man. James kept thinking of the words the King's advisor said,"The chances of dying on this mission are slim to nil." As they reached the shop a guard ran in to secure the building. A few minutes after the guard was thrown out, cut deeply. James decided to go in himself.

When he walked in the prisoner shouted at him while holding hostage the owner of the store,"Get out now! Or he dies!" James getting nervous pulled out his sword. "Let go of him now!" "Never!" The prisoner grabbed the nearest sword and charged him. As the prisoner took a swing at James, James sidestepped to the right avoiding the prisoners swing. James took the oppurtunity and stabbed the prisoner through the gut. The man gasped once as James pulled the sword out and fell to the floor dead.

James walked out of the shop only to be congratulated for his work. The next day James became a full service swordsman in the army.

((I know, the story is a little hokey but you can't say I didn't try.)

Guess I better pull something good then. An idea I've been toying with for a while:

"Sir, this is 3rd battalion reporting fromthe eastern front. More portals are opening everywhere, we can't hold them. "

"3rd battalion this is commander Duranheim, report, REPORT." he throws down the headphones and lets out a string of curses then, regaining control of himself, "what the hell do I do now? The eastern front has collapsed, the western front is falling apart at the seems, only token resistance is left in the north and my southern elements have been totally overrun."

"Sir, may I suggest the use of project ARMZ?"

"It may be our only option left Commander."

"Sir! The enemy is attacking the compound, what do we do?!"

Commander Duranheim's eyes become tiny slits inhis head as he contemplates his options, finally he says " Initiate project ARMZ." He utters a long string of numbers and letters, then pushes a small black button on his command console.

Overhead, powerful lasers pulse with the influx of energy. The ARMZSATS finish charging their lasers and open fire, laying waste to anything the beams touch. As the blast ends, another kind of energy pulses upon the surface of the world. If the commander had been alive to see the aftermath of his trump card, he would have been in for quite the rude surprise. For over every major city, and most of the smaller ones, pulsed great shields of magic. These shields were each being maintained by a group of highly powerful mages that had been gathered and trained from among thousands of races who had been subjugated by the invaders over countless millenia.

Meanwjile, in the forward command post of the invading army sits a large humanoid figure with four eyes and a long heavy tail that ends in a small club at the end. His features are reptillian in nature but the jutting nose and jaw suggests a birdlike quality to the alien visage. His scales were of a dark green colour, all he wore was a long blue tunic and black breeches, the national colours of the great empire. A deep growl resonated in the back of his throat, and the scales on his head rose from his head, seemingly of their own volition. "Anyone care to tell me what the hell that was?" he growls in a deep tenor voice, that is strangely pleasing to the ears.

A small blue creature with large dark eyes, four legs, and a pair of antennae that spouted from his abdomen shuffles up to the much larger creature, "Milord," it begins in a squeaky little voice "it seems these creatures, these humans as they call themselves, are even more insane than we originally thought they were. It seems that they constructed machines that could destroy their planet if programmed to do so. I doubt if we will eb ableto enlist these 'men' and make them part of the glorious empire."

The large reptillian creature utters in his low tenor "These creatures fought harder than any race I have ever seen, as hard as the hierarchs themselves fight. These men will make excellent shock troops. They are perfect for breaking enemy formations, mean look at them," his eyes glow with an inner fire and the small blue creature takes a step back, "They are large, fast, strong, inteligent, resilient and best of all," at this he leaps to his feat "They posses a sense of honor un-paralleled by any other race we've ever encountered. Begin the conversion process immediatly."

And so it came to pass that the human race became subjugated by the alien race known only as the heirarchs. The human quickly joined the ranks of the elite troops of the empire due to their incredible size and strength. They are now found to be fighting along side the Duranians, the reptillian race the commander of the invaders belongs to, and the Arcturians, a humanoid race that greatly resemble wolves both physically and mentally.


30 years later:

Explosions sound in the background along with the clash of Arctorium on steel , the sounds of guns firing, the screams of the dying and the battle cryes of the living. Arick smiles, he is in his ellement, he feels the blood fury flowing through him, rising behind his eyes. Suddenly he's moving. His long, powerful legs carry him closer and closer to the sounds of fighting. He is upon them, his rapier lashing out, queesting for blood. He is rewarded with a scream and a stream of blood arcing into the clear skies of this world. Even as he admires the beauty of this world he conjures a fireball with his free hand and launches it. An artillery battery goes up in mystic flame. Another explosion, Arick is hurtling through the air. He hits the ground with a thud and a crack. Probably a rib he hinks to himself. He rises with ease, his smile seems to split his face into two. But the smile doesn't reach his eyes, these eyes that watched his brother fall in the Siege of Grindaga, his father in the Battle of the Dread Plains. His smile falters as he watches an Arkroian chase a young child of the enemy into a stream, where another waits to take the tiny life upon his blade. Without a thought Arick races towards the young creature scooping it up in his arms. The second Arkrolian leaps, thinking to land on a small soft body, he slams into the living tank that is Arick. The Arkrolian looks up at Arick's face, located a lofty 6'10" in the air. Arick glares down at him and growls a single word, "mine" the Arkrolians both head back towards the battle, hoping to be able to find more blood to paint upon their swords the picture of death.

The battle is over, Arick sits in his tent, gazing down upon the child he holds in his arms, his smile returns. I shall re-name you Harry, after my brother lost in the Siege of Grindaga, and your middle name shall be Drake, in honor of my great father who fell in the Battle of the Dread Plains, your surname shall be Young, as is mine, as was my father's and my brother's and my father's father's. You are now a Young, small child, you are now my son.


OOC: Did that totally out of my head, so if parts fail to make sense then I apologize. Would like some feedback if at all possible.

Well, i'll post again, this is part of a story of mine written for the first time, since FuzzyDoom wrote on the spot I decided I would too. This is a short battle from the story I have about a man who carries the title, "The wandering warrior God of Heroes," and about those in his day and age would kill for a such a title (Where he lives, having a good title opens up many doors) and intend to do so. This battle is part of the one he won that earned him the title, He fights the supernatural horsemen known simply as the 13 horsemen who have been conquering all of Eurasia for 13 years.

Malben wiped his brow and removed the stinging arrows of The PAIN with his knife. He inspected the charred remains of The PAIN for his cloak, but found it had been mostly destroyed by the fire, and everything left was soaked in poision. If he managed to survive this, he'd have to find a tailor. Malben sheathed his sword and readied himself before walking over the next gray hill. < Hmm, 10 down, three to go.> He thought. <But I suppose the real battle's just started...>

But what awaited him in the next faded valley was not a horseman, for not even a horse was there. But what lay in that cursed valley was a large Mirror, big enough to catch the reflection of a elephant. Malben walked closer with his hand ready to draw his sword. He had been taught to not to trust any view of himself but his own, and especially not large mirrors that magically appear in a forsaken mountain range. The Mirror was ornamented and made of a dark reflective material that seemed to bring out the inner darkness of all caught in it's reflection. It's frame had the design of being made out of human sinew, twisting round the length of mirror. And as Malben stepped fully into the mirror's reflection, he read a small inscription on the top of the Frame.

THE DOUBT

Suddenly the darkness reflected in the mirror began to expand beyond the frame of the mirror, infecting the world of daylight as it spread. Soon the calm blue sky and majestic white sun became a threatening expanse of red, and a pitchblack moon. The dead gray grass became a swaying brown fur, carpetting the hills. The darkness enveloped all of Malben's world, but Malben paid it no mind. He stared upon a bigger threat.

The mirror reflected Malben himself in it's darkness, and his curious and ready reflection began to warp and sway as it was distorted by the mirror, turning into a dark shadow. The Shadow put down it's arms. Malben was compelled to do the same. The Shadow stood upon the tips of it's toes. So did Malben. The Shadow made a sickly smile with it's white lips. It dove towards Malben at a blinding speed.

Malben broke the hold and lept straight up into the air, Flipping over his back and using the force of his body to unsheath the sword handlessly. He landed perfectly and caught the sword and twirled it around to his right hand. The Shadow still had the mirror sticking to it's back, but slowly it oozed into the shadow's very being. The Shadow gave another smile. It flipped it's long strands of black hair away from its eyes and looked toward the sky. This was a Dark Malben.

Bursting from the Black Moon came an equally black steed, with eyes that burned with frightening fearceness. It reached the ground in no time flat with it's amazing speed, and shortly was beside the Dark Malben. The Shadow leapt upon it's steed, and brandished it's sword, engraved with the word 'Furyn'.

"Fool! I've never been good with a horse!" Malben yelled.

"Hmm... I guess I'll have to rough it then." The Dark Malben said in a sickeningly similar manner of Fayte's.

The horse sped towards Malben, It's master streamlining himself by staying close to the sword and holding the sword parrallel to the horse and pointed away from Malben. When it came in range the Dark Malben swung in underhanded arc, which Malben blocked with his sword, engraved with the word 'Pyros'. Despite the block, the sheer force of the blow sent him off his feet, and he landed on his back scraping the the ground heavily. <He's too fast!>

Malben quickly got back on his feet. He charged at his shadow with blinding speed and dove forward for a quick slash. The Dark Malben had his steed come to a full stop, facing the oncoming attack. As Malben came forward in mid air, he began to slow. Within a few yards of his shadow he was going roughly 30 mphs. Within ten feet of his shadow he had slowed to a crawl. And one foot away, facing this apparition in the eyes, he came to a dead stop. The Dark Malben calmly pulled back his blade and gave a light swing. The blade missed Malben but it's sheer force cut his chest and sent him sprawling high into the air. He slammed into the ground a football field length away with a skid that caused the blades of grass to cut him like a cheese grater. <He's too strong!>

Malben shakily pulled himself back up as the Dark Malben watched him in his pitiful bleeding state ready his sword. <How can I defeat such a being?>

The Dark Malben whipped his horse forward again, same as before. This time, Malben lept toward him again, and just as he began to slow down, Malben threw his sword ahead, straight for the shadow's chest. It went straight through him like mist and stuck into the ground. The Dark Malben continued coming and shoved his sword at Malben, and raised it up, transfixing Malben upon the blade. Malben screamed in pain as he dangled from the wraith's sword. <I can't hurt him!>

As Malben lay upon the blade, the shadow smiled wickedly, and reached his right hand backwards towards Malben's blade. The sword rose from where it lay and drifted into it's hands. The shadow then viciously thrust it into Malben, impaling him upon the two swords. Just bursting with happiness, the shadow pulled Malben closer while slightly twisting the blades for Malben to scream all the louder.

Meanwhile all sorts of thoughts flooded Malben's mind.<I can't go on! I'm going to die! I can't defeat him! It's impossible! My body can take no more! I'm too weak! It's like the time before with my father...>

"ENOUGH! I tire of this stupid mindgame!" Malben snapped and wrenched his blade from his chest and gave a mighty swing to a suprised shadow. The shadow could do nothing but hold up his arms in defense, but Malben's blade sliced right through him. And Malben watched as the world about him shattered into a thousand pieces.

The pieces chimed together as they all hit the grass and made a circle around Malben as he stood with his sword ready. As the bright sun reflected off of them they began to fall apart further, dissolving into dust that was quickly blown away by a wind. Malben checked his chest, finding not a scratch upon it. He then pulled out a piece of bread that remained in his side pouch and ate it, regaining his strength, will and sanity.

On the mountain peak, The leader of the 13 horsemen watched Malben.
"So. He has the strength to defeat even himself..." The Leader called out to his right. "You are next, and next to last. Do not fail like the others."

"Oh, don't worry master. I've got plenty of 'suprises' just waiting for him." Came a seductive soprano voice from a dark ledge beneath him. The speaker leapt upon a horse and raced down the mountain.

***
Well, just so you know, Malben is the grandson of Kings. The next battle is against the freakish horseman Deceit, who wears the living bodies of others as armor. He has in his possession the body of Kayra, a poor young girl who is the very reason why Malben is bothering to kill these supposed "immortals" If you want, I'll post the next battle, but be warned, it's pg-13 for mentioned nudity, the possession of a horse and it's following change into a horse-human, and then a fusion of the horse and the naked girl into a freakish centaur thing. Yeah, sometimes I watch too much of the weirder episodes of Dragonball/Z/GT.

"Go. Go!"

Vace tossed a hand out to his side as he slung his sword onto his shoulder. Behind him, Raine looked back, eyes pleading.

"But Vace..."

The grim set of the swordsman's face softened, and as his arm came down, he shrugged, the anger flowing out of him, leaving a morose Vace Durahan staring down at the ground.

"Go, Raine. I will take care of things here."

"Vace-"

"Trust me."

Mitsu's hand came down gently on her shoulder, and as she looked to him, she saw his head shake slowly.

"Let him fight, Raine. Let him win."

Raine turned back to Vace one last time, as he faced Yngwie on the landing. Then she jerked her head away and ran up the stairs with the others. As the last sounds of her footsteps faded, Vace looked up, staring straight into the other man's eyes. Slowly, he shifted his sword off his shoulder, gripping it with both hands and levelling it straight at Yngwie, one hand on the handle, the other framing the blade between thumb and forefinger.

"Well now."

A small smile spread across Vace's face. It was about as genuine as a wooden penny.

"After what Mitsu said, I can't afford to lose, can I?"

Yngwie flipped Norimune over, changing to a backhanded grip as he fell into a half-crouch.

"No, you cannot. Yet you must."

"And why is that? Why are you so dead set on getting in our way?"

"Because... because a debt of honor is owed."

For a moment, Vace could see something else beyond Yngwie's face. Failure, despair, regret... and then the moment was over as the Al Bhed extended the forefingers of his free hand in front of him. A familiar stance.

A fighting stance.

"Enough talk. Let us begin."

This is a story which serves as the base for my longer story, "The League of Controversial Superheroes"

This is called, "The Tale of Bob The Militant Agnostic" its not as funny as i would have liked it because I had to submit it for a school assiagnment (though everyone who has read it has loved it)

*Warning if you dont like blasphemy, enraged Jesus, killing of republicans, dead (fictional) Popes, and horrible Star Wars references please don't read this, there I've warned you. Seriously, if your very christian or republican don't read this*

Had to attach it as a word document because of the length.