Soulriders Writers Challenge!

[Dracos]

This will last until April 4th for those who are interested.  Let's see if we can get a better showing.

The goal here is simple...  A short scene involving violence.

Notably it's broader this time for our creative rascals like Miao.  It isn't the most creative topic though, so we'll try to come up with something better next month.  Anyhow, have fun. ^_^

Dracos

[Olvelsper]

A blonde haired youth wandered the deserts endlessly, clutching his cloak tightly around his body even as his eyes watered from the dust blown about by the banshee's shriek of the winds. His feathered cap, jauntily set down on his head, had no chance whatsoever as the wind ripped it free, sending his tangled locks billowing behind him.

It would've been dramatic. It could've been poetic.

"Just a pansy."

"Your HP sucks doorknobs, sissy boy."

If the damn voices in his mind didn't have to keep insulting him!

The man simply known as Gilbert kept walking...vengeance would soon be his, yes...

His blue eyes peeked out from below his dirt encrusted cape to stare at the dark clad form that even now marched resolutely ahead, cutting a path for the green haired girl to frolic about him, twirling about the dark knight like a hummingbird on acid.

"Hey SPOONY, hurry up! Cecil says you need to get a leg up!" Rydia's saccharine tones oozed through the air, infuriating Gilbert even more as his nickname was brought up once again. For yet the hundredth time that day, Gilbert wondered just what the hell caused the dark knight to have Namingway give him such a stupid name?

Gilbert got a chill down his spine as the voices returned with a vengeance.

'Wonder how much experience the other's get if Spoony was dead.' Gilbert immediately broke out into nervous sweat as both the green haired girl and the dark knight broke out into menacing chuckles, while eyeing him critically.

Out came out Cecil's dark blade, the jagged edges of the blade gleaming darkly with murderous intent as the duo began to close in on the trembling bard. Gilbert idly mused where the high pitched squeal was coming from before the blade came down, visions of his dearest Anna and of his kingdom flashing across the reflective edge.

Then everything was dark.

***

Cecil's sprite finished the striking animation, Spoony's defending one taking a hit of 50 damage and falling in combat, even as Rydia's fire spell animation destroyed the final desert dweller. The victory music began to play even as the battle screen blurred into the same old blue screen of battle prizes.

"Mmm...wonder how much more experience Cecil would get if he only fought by himself." The Player mused, even as he began guiding the party towards the Sand Ruby Cave.

***

Rydia suddenly shivered as the dark knight's gaze settled on her.

"You know, I always *hated* Rosa's rants on having kids. Damn brats are always so hyper." The dark knight Cecil mused out loud, blood wetly dripping off his sword as he began to march towards the green haired lass purposefully.

-------

Author's Notes: Don't look at me odd. It's proven that you can increase your experience gain when Cecil's the only one alive!  Only way to get through Cecil-only challenge games. ^^

Thanks to odin in the Soulriders chat for the inspiration, by the way. If you hadn't been talking so much about 'Spoony', I wouldn't of had this flash of madness. :p

[Ragnar]

This is my first post here. Some of you might know me from the chat room, and if you don't, you should pay more attention. I hope to frequent the bulletin board in the future.

--------------------------------------
A Short Scene Involving Violence.
--------------------------------------

    It was a cold, rainy day and I sat in my office with nothing to do except twiddle my thumbs. Just as I thought about closing early, I heard a knock on the door. I told whoever it was to come in.

"You must be Joe Rocco, private eye?" She was tall, with dark hair, wearing a low-cut red dress. I thought she looked slightly familiar, but I quickly pushed the notion out of my head. She sat down in front of my desk, and looked straight into my eyes.

"You've come to the right place. What brings a pretty girl to this part of town?"

"I need you to track down someone who owes me money." She picked up one of the trinkets I kept on my desk for boring days and started fiddling with it.

"What for? Surely a girl like you can't have gambling debts." Most casinos I'd been to, there were no dames in sight. It's take a tough one to fight off the attention she'd get in a place like that.

"It was a gamble, in a way." She brushed back her hair with her hand, and gave me an ironic smile. "Anyway, I'm sure it won't be too hard of a case."

"So you want me to find the guy who gypped you, eh?" Again with the smile, this time more of a smirk. "Well, let's start. How long ago was this?"

"Three years."

"Three years? You shoulda come a lot sooner." There it was again. Something in that smile of hers reminded me of... I didn't know what.

"Well, it wasn't a problem until he stopped paying me. That was last month." He must have owed her a lot to be paying in installments. Either that, or the guy had no income and needed the time to scrounge around for some extra dough. "I didn't get the usual letter in the mail." She was looking at me again, deep into my eyes. Something gave me the idea she was just toying with me.

"Where'd you last see this guy?"

"Courthouse." She'd responded without missing a beat, but none of it seemed to make any sense.

"Look, this guy owes you money, and the last place you saw him was the courthouse? I thought you said this was a gambling debt."

"I said I took a gamble with him, yes." She said it as if just thinking about whatever it was put a bad taste into her mouth. Her eyes told me she was disgusted with this guy.

"I don't get it. He owes you money from a courthouse? And he mails it to you monthly? There's gotta be something you're not telling me." She had walked over to the other side of my room, and picked up my briefcase.

"This looks new. Is it?"

"Yes, I-" That was all I managed to get out before it connected with my forehead. Next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, and she was standing over me.

"Remember me? Your 'ex'? Your alimony check's overdue, jerk." She shot me a look that could kill a yak and walked out, slamming the door.


I knew she looked familiar.

--------
This Joe Rocco has nothing to do with any other Joe Roccos you might know. I just picked a name from the back of my head that sounded right to me.

Breaks are used instead of indentations because I'm too lazy to type out a zillion nbsp's.

I was not influenced by any words, including, but not limited to forky, knify, and sporky.

I hope you like it. If you don't, that means you probably don't think like me. It's a good sign.

[Justin Carr]

My friend made me sit down and write for this challenge. So here is the result of about a half hour's work.

----------------

The air conditioning was broken and the fan that someone had brought in was merely pushing the hot air around. Miguel was sweating like pig and having a hard time concentrating on the poker game, which was ironic because he bore a strong resemblance to one. Technically, everyone in the room should be paying attention to the surveillance screens, but no officer ever came up here and things tending to get boring. Well, there was one person paying attention.

"We really shouldn't be gambling on duty, sir," said a young man, his hair and condition of uniform hinting that he was a fresh graduate from basic training.

"Lighten up, Jesus," said Miguel as he took the thick cigar out of his mouth. "No one will catch us."

"That's besides the point, sir," protested Jesus. "It is our duty to do our best, no matter what the job is."

Miguel sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Look. We're in the middle of the Amazon Jungle, in a top secret base that no one knows about, and guarding a broken mech." He waved at the surveillance screen and the mech that they were trained on.

The mech in question was missing its arms, legs and head. Chains were wrapped around the arm sockets, holding it upright. The only thing unusual about the mech was the center of the body. A large portion of the middle of the chest and stomach was a rippling pool of liquid metal that defied gravity by not spilling out.

Miguel turned back to Jesus. "Now why would anyone want tha...?" Jesus was no longer looking at Miguel, but pointing at the screens, his eyes wide. Miguel spun around and saw a young boy standing on a crane in front of the mech that had been empty moments before.

The boy was naked except for a breechcloth. His skin was covered in tribal tattoos. Around his neck, was a necklace fashioned from leather and jaguar teeth. The boy's long black hair was tied back by a leather headband with more markings painted on it. The boy turned and looked at the camera with piercing green eyes.

"Man is not ready for the demon," said the boy. "I shall take him before you use him for harm." With those words, the boy reached out and touched the surface of the metallic pool. The metal flowed up his hand; hungry sucking sounds filled the air as the pool slowly pulled the boy closer. The boy calmly stepped forward into the embrace of the pool.

As he disappeared, the liquid metal began to seep out of the limb and neck sockets. The metal from the limb sockets stretched and contorted like taffy before solidifying into sinuous arms and legs. The metal that came from the neck continued to flow up into a mound. Then it seemed to shrink, forming the visage of a jaguar.

However, the mech still hung several meters off the ground by the thick chains under its armpits. Spikes jutted from the arms, severing the chains. The mech fell to the ground in a crouch and the entire base seemed to tremble in fear. The spikes flowed back into the arms.

Miguel sprang forward and slammed his fist down on a large red button. The alarms started to wail and the hangar doors, that were cracked open to allow fresh air in, banged shut.

"Nothing to worry about," sighed Miguel. "There is no way it is getting out now. The base is sealed shut."

The mech calmly turned to face the closed doors. Spikes sprouted from its torso and, then, shot out. The metallic slivers sliced through the door at various points and sunlight streamed through.

It walked forward and placed its hands on the lacerated door. The mech's arms softened like wax and slowly started to pushed through the holes. Once of the other side, the arms hardened again. The muscles of the arm strained as the mech slowly started to pull the two halves of the hangar door open.

Dozens of guards ran up while it was doing this and opened fire with machine guns at the mech. The bullets ricocheted off the hard metal frame and thudded into the liquid metal, sending small ripples outward.

The legs started to melt and flow across the floor. The liquid metal pooled around the feet of the guards. Suddenly, silver spears shoot up from the pool, impaling the guards and lifting them from the ground. Red blood ran down the spear shafts, mixing and swirling with the metallic liquid. The spears retracted once the last guard stopped twitching and the pool flowed back and up the legs.

By now the doors were wide enough for the mech to step through. The guards still in the surveillance room watched as the mech disappeared into the thick jungle. The entire room was quiet for several minutes.

"Um... what do we do now?" asked Jesus, breaking the silence. Nothing he had been taught in basic training had prepared him for the brutal killings that he had just witnessed.

Miguel slowly sat down and after a few seconds answered. "Hide the cards. Cause we've got some explainin' to do."

[Merc]

The transport vehicle came to a screeching halt, bringing to a stop my own
wandering thoughts. I stared outside the window, at the unending pattern of
water streaming from the dark skies, noticing that finally, we'd arrived
at our destination.

The dame, Susan Derkins, stood up ahead of me, moving towards the vehicle's
exit at a leisurely pace. Pulling a cowl over her head, she stopped only to
throw me a look promising much pain should we meet again, before jumping
into the downpour, splash after splash of her retreating steps into the
darkness following. Let her come, I'd be ready for her.

That one was a dangerous woman, one I'd be well advised to keep an eye on,
especially after the day's events. Instinctively, my hand rubbed against my
cheek. While she hadn't actually slapped me, not a few hours earlier she
had yelled at me harshly enough that she might as well have. Harpy.

***

It all started two days ago. I'd been hired to find information on a
certain man, apparently missing for a while now. Nobody had seen him in
ages. The client, a large old woman, seemed to believe he was still alive
or something, cause she wanted everything we could find on him.

I offered to find the man for her, for a relatively extra fee, but her
response was a simple stare at me...and the addition of a future headache.
Turning towards one Susan Derkins, a would-be rival in the investigatory
matters, the client asked that she work together with me in this case.

Surprised the hell out of me, that.

Before I could complain, Susan began her own tirade about how she'd rather
die than work with me. A look from the client stopped her from saying more,
and me from fighting back. Man, that was one scary old woman.

We both needed the reward though, apparently Susan more than I, especially
if she was willing to put up with me. Heh. She knew me well enough to know
I'd be trouble for the crack about preferring death. Sure, we both
preferred to work solo, but that was true of most investigators.

Outside of our profession, we were as different as day and night though.
She was the sort that liked to quietly search for information. Me? I was
more about the action. I'd apply pressure on a select group of informants
and get what I needed that way. Hadn't failed me yet.

As we stepped out of the client's room, Susan spun around on me, lifting
me by my shirt, with a feral look on her face. "Look, you moron. I'm
stuck with you again, but this time you're helping out, you hear me?
I'm not doing all the work!" she yelled at me.

I calmly pushed her arm off my shirt, and looked at her seriously. "I know
what I'm doing," I said before leaving cooly.

I didn't worry too much. How hard could the case be?

Very hard, I learned the next day.

***

"Give me all your money!" was all the warning I heard before I was slammed
into the hard brick wall, held up by the throat, my feet dangling over the
ground. My first thought was 'What, again?' to being raised by my shirt.
My second thought was a bit more fitting, considering this was a lot more
painful than Susan's action. 'Ow!'

My eyes watered as the thug applied pressure to my neck, his eyes hidden
behind thick bangs. "I mean it, twinkie!"

If I wasn't about to die, I'd laugh at the childish insult. If I wasn't
about to die.

I hadn't expected any trouble so I'd left my gun in the office. Big mistake.
There's always trouble in a PI's life. I wonder when I'll learn that lesson
for good.

"P-p-pocket," I moaned out pathetically, trying to put him off his guard,
so he'd think he'd done worse to me than he really had. It failed it seems,
because a large meaty punch impacted directly against my face, my head
rocketing back into the brick wall.

I blacked out to the feeling of my pockets being searched, the thug
departing with laughter. A name came to me as blessed unconsciousness
takes over. Moe. The thug's name was Moe.

***

I tried to think of why I would be assaulted once I came to, as this wasn't
Moe's usual MO. I'd been thinking of using that money to visit the comi...

That might have been it. I wasn't supposed to be going there and he'd been
hired to stop me, by all means possible. Susan did not agree with my
theory, as she raised her head from her books to yell at me. Harpy didn't
have anything better to do than yell, did she?

I raised my hands in defeat, and promised to look into the matters she told
me to, but I knew what I had to do.

I apparently arrived too late though, the building empty save for one man
behind the counter looking bored. The counter man stated that nobody had
been here for at least an hour. I quickly left before I could be tempted by
the siren song of the merchandise, my loot already gone.

The next day was worse, despite the lacking presence of pain. Instead, it
held humilation, as apparently the client had set a deadline on her case.
I had nothing, and Susan somehow had everything. As my peers laughed, and
the client and Susan both glared at me, my eyes narrowed. Moe would pay for
his actions. This would cost me. Cost me dearly.

***

The horn sounded, bringing me back into reality, the driver staring at me.
"Out," he said simply and gruffly.

I complied as I pulled my hood over my head, sighing. Stepping into the
rain, I found visibility to be a bother, but headed nonetheless towards my
complex. My home.

The case was over, a dismal failure that would haunt me for days.

Distracted over the humiliating failure, I once more made the mistake of
being careless. There is always danger in the life of a PI, whether on the
case or not. Carelessness was not an option.

Admittedly, I just never expected to be facing the jaws of death careening
towards my face, sharp claws and teeth pointing straight at me, as I opened
the door to the apartment building where I do business.

I yelped in surprise as I leaned back, trying to absorb the impact, as well
as avoid the sharp white demise trying to latch onto my neck.

What the -heck- was a tiger doing in the city, and better yet in -my- home?
I didn't know, nor did I have the chance to really care at the moment, as
my hands attempted to hold its jaws at bay, the two of rolling onto the
muddy ground.

As it swiped at my arm with its claw, I hold in the cry of pain, loosening
my hold on its jaws and quickly delivering an uppercut under its jaw somehow.
Dazed, I was able to move somewhat, such that it would not have easy access
to my vital areas. It fought wildly, as did I, scratches covering both of
our bodies, and not for the first time, I strongly wished for my gun.

"CALVIN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE GROUND ROLLING LIKE THAT?!?" a woman's
voice rang out from the apartment door. A gasp soon followed.

She must have noticed the tiger with its jaws clamped around my arm. It
seemed oddly surprised to see her, though, and did not bite down.

"CALVIN, YOU GET IN HERE RIGHT THIS MINUTE AND TAKE A SHOWER!"

The tiger looked like it wanted to get away, as if it knew something bad
was coming. I grin as I somehow gather the energy to drag him towards the
apartment somehow, its claws digging into the ground, probably trying to
escape.

The woman easily grabbed him by the scrunge of its neck, a rather monstrous
feat of strenght, as she gave me a dirty look. I didn't care. Frankly, her
order of a shower sounded good at the moment. Taking off my shoes, I headed
upstairs.

"I just washed you too..." she muttered behind me. "I guess I'll have to
throw you into the washer again, Hobbes."

Great. She was talking to a freaking tiger. Maybe I'd just go to sleep
instead. I didn't need no stinking shower.

==========

This entry is dedicated to the birthdaying plushie. May he and Hobbes have
many more bouts of washer dizziness over the years to come, and may his
attacks of luv be kinder than Hobbes' joyful greetings for Calvin. ^_^

Anyhow, time to get back to the plushie's fic before he mauls me like a
hyperactive first grader arriving home to his friend's greeting. >_>;

And yes, I know I overdid it. This was hardly a "short" scene. Was
more like a small Tracer Bullet spamfic... <_<;

[Edward]

The Garden of Remembrance

   By Edward Simons

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Based on characters and situations created by Takahashi Rumiko.  Ranma 1/2 and characters copyright Shogakukan, Kitty Animation Circle, and Takahashi Rumiko.  Magic Knights Rayearth copyright CLAMP, Kodansha, and Dentsu.  This story written 2004  - Edward Simons
   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Even as a child, I knew I'd inherit a dojo.  What happened before I actually got one is more story or perhaps stories than I care to recall, though in the end, I didn't get the dojo I expected.  There were too many rivals with too many names.  When my husband and I finally decided to marry, we knew we couldn't stay there in Nerima, nor even keep our real names.

   Not that many had expected us to marry.  We got along poorly at first; I think I even hated him for a bit.  And I spent too much time focussed on the attention he paid to the other girls and not enough on his courage, confidence, and determination. We were children, trying to be adults and not always trying as hard as we should have.

   He proved a better husband than I expected.  Perhaps it was his father's example, his father's bad example, that is.  I knew my husband would do anything rather than end up like his father.  I had a far better example in my mother, though I doubt I ever matched her skills as wife or parent.

   In the end, I was happy and I know my husband loved me.  Our dojo is even bigger than the one I would have inherited, though the name on the gate is Shidou, a name that still feels wrong, even after all these years.

   Time passed as our school and our family grew; three strong sons and a beautiful redheaded daughter.  Any woman would be happy with what I had, but I'm not just any woman and I sensed our happiness would end someday.

   Though when something finally shattered the dream, it wasn't something from the past.  Our six-year-old daughter was sparring with her father.  It was a silly accident, he slipped and fell.  Little Hikaru proudly proclaimed her victory, then pulled her hair back and asked me to braid it so it so she could grow her hair long, yet it wouldn't get in her way when she sparred.  I did it, but I didn't know why my hands trembled.

   And that night the dreams came, dreams of a laughing pigtailed boy, a boy who had been closer to me than anyone else.  And I remembered the magics my husband had used, magics that tore me from that boy and compelled me to love my husband.

   The next morning, I told Hikaru that her father had gone away to train for a rematch against her.  It's the only time I've lied to my daughter, perhaps that's why she believed me.  And I planted a cherry tree, a tree that has grown rich and full as my life used to be, a tree with petals of startling pink, fed by what lay below it.

   I couldn't go back, not after what I'd become, and I prayed that Ranma had found happiness with one of his fiancées.  I prayed for myself as well, for though my husband was gone, though I hated him still, his magic would not let me go and I loved Tatewaki still, even though I hadn't been called the pigtailed girl for years.

[Pana!]

We all have to start from somewhere....



--Randy Cody flicked his arm in the litted alleyway, hand forming into a fist just before it struck
the conman's chest. Instantly, he crumpled down on the flithy ground, shocked at receiving
a knuckle sandwich than his daily prize, a crumpled Jackson, given to him from unwary tourists beliving his claims of needs a dollar, promising to return it when he entered the plaza.


"Sucks to be you sucker," Randy Cody drawls out, stomping the heel of his steel sneakers on the side of the conman's knee, producing a sickening crack. The stocky boy kicks again on the undamages kneecap,
snapping it to leave the moaning scum crawling near the deserted streets, praying to find someone, even the authorities to turn himself him, anything to end the torment as his broken bones scrape against the flith. Its color changes
from a dull gray to an oozing red, creating a trail where Randy out conned the conman in pretending to give him money.

A few more yards of crawling, then he stops, paralayzed by a stomp to the spine.  Helplessly, he finds himself turned over, staring at a grinning face above him.  "One more for the road," Randy waves wryly, then throws a punch to victim's throat, causing him to spasm. Several seconds later,
he moves no more.

Several seconds pass as Randy stares down at the corpse, then he shrugs and picks up his bill, heading out of the alley.

[Midnight Sun]

First scene for a fiction project being co-written by myself and two others:


"HELP ME! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!!"

A man ran for his life through a maze of shadowy alleyways and dank
backstreets. His terror soaked voice echoed off the walls as he tried
desperately to escape from a shadow that loomed all around him. It was a
horrible, foreboding presence that instilled a terror within his heart that he
had not felt in all his life. It beat hard and fast against his chest as if
trying to rip itself free.

"Someone...please," his voice gave out as his lungs burned between each
struggling breath. He knew there had to be a street, and more importantly
people, somewhere...anywhere. All he wanted to do was get out into the open, and
hope the shadow would then leave him alone. "Just...leave...me alone."

His hopes and reality did not see eye to eye, as his legs gave out through sheer
exhaustion. He toppled onto the damp ground, violently knocking over a trashcan
in the process. He tried to will himself to stand, to keep running, but his body
would not listen. All he could do was look up, and see a pair of burning ruby-
red eyes in the darkness bearing down on him.

"Oh...God..." he whispered with growing mania in his voice. "God, please someone
help me..."

Footsteps. It was the footsteps that were driving him to the brink. The gap
between each footfall was so consistent, so precise, and each one made his
already erratic heart skip a beat.

"If you had just given me what I wanted when I asked for it, I might've let you
live," it said as it let out a throaty, hollow laugh that carried menace and
lacked any real mirth.    

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT! I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT
GODDAMNIT!!" the man screamed as loud as he could muster. He already tried
reasoning with the demon, but it seemed deaf to his pleas.

His pursuer finally emerged from the pitch darkness to where he could seem him.
He was surprised to know that what had been chasing him all this time was
another man. He wore a long black trenchcoat with a high rim that concealed the
lower half of his face. The hard soles of his black leather boots fell against
the ground as he approached slowly, and his short, spiky silver bangs waved
lethargically in the soft wind that passed through the alley.

"So you claim," the black clothed man said in a low, rumbling voice. "But I can
sense it. You have the stone."

"W...what stone? I don't have any stones!" his trembling prey said.

Without a word, he removed the black leather glove around his right hand before
raising his arm and leveling the open hand at his target. To his victim's
horror, the flesh at his forehead and his palm began to split open with the
sickening sound of skin and muscle tearing itself wide apart. In seconds, a
third eye appeared at the center of his brow, fluttering wildly from side to
side before settling its gaze on its master's quarry. At the same time, what
could only be described as a mouth opened at the center of his palm. It was
lined with rows of razor sharp teeth, and dripped hot and pungent saliva.

"I know, my eye can see all," the hunter hissed. "And my hand craves that which
is hiding inside your body."

Two black tendrils shot from the center of the mouth at blinding speed, such
that his target had no time to register them until it was too late. They rammed
into the flesh of the man's shoulders before exploding out the back, carrying
blood soaked shards of bone and muscle with them.

"AAAAHHHHHH!!!" he screamed in sheer terror and pain as he hoisted violently
into the air.

As he was screaming, a third tentacle emerged and used the opportunity to
slither through the air and then worm its way down his throat. All he could do
was let out wet, hacking, chokes as the feeler ripped its way down his
esophagus.

"Ahh, there it is," the keeper of the hideous appendages whispered as he worked.

The organic vine reversed direction quickly, and dragged the object up and out
his of mouth, along with whatever pieces of throat and tonsil that happened to
caught along the way. In its damp, slimy grasp was a small, shining, octagonal
azure gem, still dripping in yellow and pink body fluid.

"Excellent, the stone is still intact," he said to himself after a brief
examination. "You can have the rest."

At his command, four more whip-like tentacle members emerged and wrapped
themselves around their prey's arms and legs.  With a single, vicious, tug, they
quartered him, sending geysers of blood as they rended arteries and veins in the
process. As his life slicked the black asphalt the tendrils dragged his
mutilated toward the awaiting mouth, snapping them at joints to make the
portions more manageable.

"Only a few more stones left," he whispered to himself, as the creature that
dwelled the blackness of his soul dragged the beginnings of its latest meal into
its waiting maw, despite the imbalanced size. At the same time, more tentacles
had already reached out, and were working on their meal's delicate, soft,
insides. "And then...the Revolution can begin..."

[Kwokinator]

Here's my entry.  A post-A Broken Casket/Sluggy Freelance crossover.  Merc knows what it's about ^_^

----------------------------------

   Riff was panting.  For the first time in his life, he was genuinely worried if something might happen to him.  He had the weapons, and he was on his home turf.  He should have every advantage, but he didn't.  He silently cursed the sheer ferocity and speed of his attacker.  

   "Hey Torg, are you alright?" he spoke into his modified walky-talky.

   "Yeah, I'm alright.  Ailee's new form is doing wonAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH*PZZT*"

   "Dammit!" Riff cursed loudly.  The monster must've gotten to Torg. "I have to move fast."

-------------------------------------------

   "Hello?" Torg spoke into the silent walky-talky.

   "Hello?" he repeated, knocking the communicator with his knuckles, then shaking it.

   Suddenly, all the lights illuminating Torg went out.

   "Hello?"

   Nothing answered him but echoes.  

   Seconds later, an answer came in the form of Aylee's gargled screams, followed by a sickening thud.  It was as if a body just fell into a pool of water, only he knew that the warehouse he was in had no bodies of water.

   His grip unconsciously tightened around the rifle his friend Riff gave him, and his palms started to sweat.  Silently concentrating, he hoped to sense any movements or sounds his hunter might make.  Unfortunately It was all in vain.

   All too late, he caught sight of his pursuer.  All he saw was a flash of red, and the next thing he knew was that he was on the floor, his eyes looking up at his now-headless body, sliding and falling apart into bloody pieces.

   Then everything became dark...

-------------------------------------------

   Zoe screamed.  She screamed and ran.  As a defenseless girl, she figured that she could do little else.  Riff didn't have enough weapons to give to everyone, and she thought that she could get some help if she simply ran and screamed for help.

   She now knew that she was wrong.  Dead wrong.

   The predator was hot on her tail, and she had nowhere to run.  She was running along an open road, and there were no forests or anything she could conceal herself in.  She finally found herself near an abandoned warehouse, and sprinted into it without giving it any thought.

   A sickening smell assaulted her nose the minute she entered.  It smelled like the slaughterhouse she went to once.

   It smelled like blood.

   She wanted to go back out right away, then she remembered what was lurking outside.  Although her attacker was not there yet, she knew it would get there soon enough.  The only option she had was to hide in the warehouse.

   She spotted a tall stack of boxes at the back, and recognized it instantly as the perfect hiding spot.  She crept silently to the chosen location, then her throat let out an involuntary scream when she caught sight of what gave off the smell.

   Torg's body was lying in pieces, his head at its side, amidst a pool of crimson blood.  Before she could pull together enough to run back out, the door violently burst open.

   She gave off a small, high-pitched scream, and quickly turned around.

   All she saw was a flash of red, then she promptly found herself staring at Torg's lifeless face, a sickly liquid caressing her face...

   Then the red haze started setting in, and she knew no more.

---------------------------------------

   Riff was going stir-crazy.  Although he didn't look forward to dying or meeting the monster, this silence was making him nervous.

   He carefully looked around his current hiding spot, and headed out to brave fate.

   Nothing was out of the ordinary at first glance, so he marched onwards, his hands gripping the deadly rifle tightly.

   The further he made his way down the road, the more the unsettling feeling sank in.  It wasn't normal.  It was quite, too quite.

   And moments later, he knew why.  A figure was speeding towards him, running on all fours like a ferocious tiger after a prey.

   He frantically pressed the trigger to shoot at the approaching menace, but it dodged all the shots expertly, as if the beams of death were moving slow as snails.  Finally, he threw down the weapon, turned around and ran.

   But it was far too late.

   The second he turned around, he felt sharp claws digging into his sides, and exiting out the other side, and with it came his precious, vital organs.  He could almost hear the sound of his innards splattering on the road beside him seconds before the claws dug into and across his skull, bringing with it the genius that made him Riff and splattering the grey matter along the road.

   "Meow!"

---------------------------------------

   Bun-Bun flicked his switchblade and toyed with it, a maniacal glint in his eyes as he waited.

   "Finally, someone worthy of being my opponent..."

   He began to smirk as he noticed the approaching figure, a young pig-tailed man donning a red shirt and running on all fours.

   "Come get some..." Bun-Bun began to grin sadistically, his switchblade in ready position.

   The cat-like figure and Bun-Bun jumped at each other, intending to meet in mid-air.

   "MEOW!"

   "RAWR!"

[Dracos]

Okee-dokey.  A great showing, much better than last time.

I'd like to thank everyone who participated.  I'll be throwing together a voting panel relatively shortly since we had such a great turn out and we'll be voting on the winning challenge fic over the next three days or so.

Let's have such a great showing for the next months challenge. ^_^

Dracos

[Dracos]

Okay...  There is a lot of good ones.

Before I finally pick, some individual comments.

Olguin: I liked it, but it wasn't the best of the crowd.  A good effort, a clever idea, though it hangs a bit on the dialogue being too heavy handed.  A solid attempt.  ^_^

Ragnar: An old cliched setup and narrative style, but humorous and generally well delivered.  Given the length of it, it worked well.

Justin Carr: Welcome aboard bloke.  You are obviously a pretty skilled writer with a solid grasp of the technical aspects of writing.  The characters could've been a bit more lively and fleshy feeling (they felt a little curt in general execution), but the overall style is good and it's a nicely written scene.

Merc: That was a nicely done spamfic.  Good sense of the style of Calvin and Hobbes.

Edward: Very nice.  Good usage of source material.

Pana: A good try, but work on your sentence structure and general development of atmosphere.  Even in a short scene these things are important.

Midnight: A good setting of environment, but a touch to strong.  It never really pulled me in and therefore the later descriptive work didn't work well.  The alienness of the attacker did not particularly help with this.

Kwok: Just not wacky enough.  Sure it's violent, but it doesn't feel like a sluggy crossover without any wackiness.  Basically, it captures the word of the source without the spirit.  Without this, the violence just didn't really work for me.

That said...

My vote goes to Edward.  A good short scene.

Good job to all participants. ^_^

Dracos

[Rezantis]

OK. In the same format as Drac's!

Olg: Nicely done and amusing, but I didn't get into it so much . . . I think your writing style felt a little -too- zany to me. Hm.

Also, you killed Rydia, bastard. ;P

Ragnar: Good stuff, I was amused.  Little that leaps out to criticise, off the top of my haed.

Justin: Well put together, definitely, but for some reason it didn't grab me.  It seemed faintly stilted . . . actually, if I had to place that, it could be that you started the vast majority of your descriptive sentences with 'The', which makes for something of an abrupt break. In my mind. Technically very good, however, I'm impressed.

Alviss: Hah. Amused am I. I can't see anything to really criticise, again . . .

Edward: You score points for handling the violence indirectly, which nobody else tried to do. A well put together scene, and an -interesting- premise. :)

Pana: Too short. It just felt like, well, violence for the sake of violence.  Which it was, I guess, but there wasn't any depth to it, or anything to make it memorable.  Also, you changed tenses. That's a big no-no. The first paragraph is in past tense and the rest of the scene is in present . . . very jarring.

Also, as Drac said, your sentence structure needs a little work - you've got enough commas in that scene to sink a battleship. ;)

Midnight: This didn't really draw me in.  We had no real interest in or empathy for the victim, and . . . well, it seemed kinda cliche, overall.

Kwok: Mm, didn't grab me at all . . . probably mostly 'cause it had no real feel of Sluggy in it. ^^; It fell pretty much flat to me. You have the names, but not the characters or the atmosphere, and without that it's just J.Random Persons getting chopped into kibble.

All that said, my vote goes to Ragnar. His scene struck me as the most memorable, and was very well done.  Nice work. :)

[Rakhal]

Olguin: FF4 ficcery. Most amusing, I've tried that as well :) (killing party memmbers off)  

Ragnar: Writing is good, but it seems a little forced somehow. Seems hard to believe that Rocco
wouldn't recognise his ex. And his ex seems to be counting on that as well. Is she in disguise
or something?. As a result the denoument lacked force, since it didn't feel 'real'  

Justin Carr: Good writing and imagery, one does wonder where the mecha came from, and the boy
for that matter. Also you have to wonder about the denseness of guards that just stand there while
liquid metal pools around their feet (I'd dodge it :))
I did wonder for a moment why Miguel bore a strong resemblance to a poker game :) (it's actually to
a pig of course, but the story reads that its the poker game).

Alviss: I've heard of Calvin and Hobbes, but never seen it, so I have no idea how this fits with
that. It certainly starts off gritty and the realisation that these are comic kids characters at
the end is quite weird. There are a number of grammatical errors, things like 'despite the lacking
presence of pain'. Not really my cup of tea, maybe I'd like it more if I'd seen the source
material.

Edward: Eek, split-Ranma story :) Written well though and kept you guessing til the end. Somewhat
scary too. I'm assuming Tatewaki somehow found some magic to split girl-Ranma off from boy Ranma.
Confused as to whether Tatewaki died or something though, in the accident...

Pana: Gory little fic fragment, but you need to check spelling/grammar

Midnight Sun: I don't know why but this made me think of Spyro the Dragon! it must be the stone..
Good writing, violent imagery. Now why did this guy swallow the stone in the first place, or was he
born with it, or what...

Kwok: The master of gore :) And there's plenty of it here. I see Ranma is still a demented killing
machine. Written well. It should be noted that I've never seen Sluggy, so I'm commenting on this purely
as a Ranma ABC gore-fic.

Personally my vote goes to Justin, with Midnight and Edward close behind.

[Rezantis]

Edward: Eek, split-Ranma story :) Written well though and kept you guessing til the end. Somewhat scary too. I'm assuming Tatewaki somehow found some magic to split girl-Ranma off from boy Ranma.  Confused as to whether Tatewaki died or something though, in the accident...

It's interestingly vague.  The way I read it was that girl-Ranma, when she remembered, killed Tatewaki and buried him in the garden, and planted the cherry tree on top of him.  But anyway. ^^

[Justin Carr]

Might as well get my say in.

Olguin: It took me a while to understand what was going on. Once I did, I found it kinda humorous. (For me, that's high praise.)

Ragnar: You did build a little towards the ending with him thinking occasionally that she looked vaguely familiar, but it requires a bit of suspension of disbelief. Well written though.

Justin Carr: *Strokes story* Don't listens to them, Precious. They don't understands you like I do, Precious. I'll takes care of thems, yes, I will. *Clears throat* Rereading it, I wonder want I was thinking. I wrote it in half an hour and it shows. Especially the sweating like a poker game part. *smacks 'editor' upside the head* Oh well, I posted so that I could get advice to help my writing, which I have. I'll go over my stories more for repetitive or overused words. This is something that I'll look back on someday and blush about it. Actually I think that day is today.

Alviss: Probably not the best fic for someone not familiar with Calvin and Hobbes to read, but the same can be said about any fanfic. Some really good writting that makes the few mistakes all the more glaring like 'the two of rolling onto the muddy ground.' If it's supposed to be 'the two of them,' it still doesn't make sense since it is a first-person perspective story. So I gave up trying to understand.

Edward: I really liked this one. Never seen Magic Knights Rayearth though, so some of the references didn't make sense but I think I was able to piece together what was going on.

Pana!: Never liked stories or movies with violence for violence sake. My friends make fun of me because I refuse a play any game that doesn't have a story and I'm not just saying that because I stink at DDR. I won't never play most first-person shooters or puzzle games either.

Midnight Sun: Interesting. Seems like the introduction to a larger story. Maybe one that explained how the stone got inside the man. Good descriptions though.

Kwokinator: This story just doesn't have the funny factor of a Sluggy story. It comes off as more of a bad slasher movie, only slasher movies tend to have more plot. Well, barely more plot, but still...

Alrighty. It's a toss up between Edward and Midnight Sun. However, I think I'll go with Edward's story though. It felt more complete. There ya go. You have my vote for this challenge. Maybe I'll do better with the next one.