[Literature] Fate: Cookie - Outline of the Remaining Story

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
Chapter 6: Latent Destiny

Bob's skates slashed across the ice as he juked another opponent. No need to pass to a teammate. This goal, this victory, was his. A defender tried to check him. Too slow. Bob spun and slapped the puck across the field, making sure not to face the net in order to give the slow goalie a chance to block. He had no such luck.

Bob scored, but no audience cheered. Bob smiled and took deep breaths, then looked at his watch. Time to get back to work.

Bob skated around the field, picking up the cardboard defenders he had made as he went with practice-perfect decision. He took off his skates and stored the defenders in the storage room where the cleaning supplies were. He towed the cleaning cart out of the closet and began cleaning the stadium once more.

Being a graveyard custodian was a drag, but it was the only way he got to spend so much time at Maelstrom Stadium. He even knew some of the players pretty well, and played chess weekly with the Hounds' assistant coach. Bob swept discarded soft drinks and half-empty popcorn bags per routine. Hours passed, but hockey podcasts kept depressing thoughts at bay. Mid-shift, he polished the statue of Mael at the stadium entrance. It was his favorite part.

When the sun began to rise, Bob distributed mail. Loads of fan mail for the players, corporate gifts for the managers and executives. Occasionally, Bob pilfered a bottle of wine or box of chocolates if they were directed to one of the dickish managers. But not today. Today was the first day Bob received mail directly.

The label indicated Bob was the primary recipient, with Maelstrom himself as the secondary recipient. This was no relic from before Mael's disappearance though. It was dated today.

"What in hell," said Bob to the empty stadium. He thought about telling someone about it, but it would be a few days. And his curiosity only grew. Bob opened the package. Inside was an ancient-looking bottle.

"No way," gasped Bob, as he felt the surge of magical energy from the bottle. "This can't be a catalyst, can it?"

Bob thought back to his early school days, before dropping out. The Cookie Wars were one of the more interesting subjects those magic nerds taught about. It was about all he remembered.

Suddenly, everything made sense. Maelstrom's peerless hockey skills, his endless charm, his unmatched artistry, and his mysterious disappearance. Mael was a mage!

"He did disappear around the time of the last Cookie War," said Bob to himself. "I guess he didn't make it. But why put his name on the package? And mine!"

Bob considered returning the package. Or disposing it, since there was no return address. But something inside him drove him to complete the summoning ritual. It was as though a reassuring hand was placed on his shoulder.

"I am not a skilled mage," smiled Bob as he picked up the bottle. "But I am not unskilled. Look out, eggheads."

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
Chapter 7: GG No Re

"Press the attack!" shouted Zapy. "They're expecting a retreat, but they won't have it! Carve a path to their commander!"

"The field commander was slain in the last volley," panted a wounded subordinate.

"No matter," smiled Zapy. "I will lead the charge myself."

Zapy's remaining forces rallied in unison and dove into the approaching bodyguards with their triangle formation. Spells were slung and forces fell dead on both sides. When the carnage ceased, Zapy drank his last health potion and approached the bored commander.

"That wasn't a very good play," said Zircom casually. His arms stayed at his sides.

"You insult me," growled Zapy. "Draw your sword or I will slay you like the fool you are."

Zircom drew his sword, and it shone brilliantly. It shone brighter still when it cut Zapy in two.

"Goddamit!" shouted Dunsparce, slamming both fists on his desk. He typed furiously.

Regis_Acolyte: You only won because your ***ot ass bought a Legendary weapon.

System: Warning! Swearing is not permitted on this server!

Tag_Ross: Nah, you can get it if you grind long enough for the materials.

Regis_Acolyte: Loser, I bet you have no life.

Tag_Ross: I mostly play CW: Mobile nowadays, but yeah I've played a lot of this. You did okay, but you should have retreated after your FC died in Round 2. Saves you resources.

Tag_Ross: Also Zapy isn't a good pick in the current meta. Or...at all, really.

Regis_Acolyte: **** off.

System: Hey, pal. No swearing allowed. Czech your language.

Tag_Ross: lol whatever, I'm just trying to give you pointers. You have to know when to cut your losses and fight another day.

Regis_Acolyte: Yeah, like when your beta cuck ass had a ****** cut off your chode and feed it to your mom.

System: You have been banned from this server, degenerate scum.

"Stupid game's for losers anyways," said Dunsparce, squinting at the window. "Fuck, is it morning already?"

Someone knocked on the door.

Dunsparce stood up and his joints popped loudly. He opened the front door and scooped up the mail as the carrier walked away.

"Yes!" says Dunsparce excitedly, noting the stamp seal of the Order of 0corn. He opens it carefully.

"Dear sir," reads Dunsparce.

"You submitted an application this year to join our esteemed association of mages. However, upon further review of your submitted works and letters, we have decided to..."

Dunsparce's heart skipped a beat.

"...bar you from any present or future association with Oo0. Aside from misspelling 0corn as Ocorn, your submissions struck our panel as draconian and uncivilized in every way. We advise you to stop practicing magic altogether, or else fall on a number of sharp objects. Enclosed is a complementary bar of soap. From what we can only assume of your grotesque nature, you are not familiar-"

"Oh fuck these guys," said Dunsparce, tossing the letter aside. "They're worse than the Academy snobs. Let's see what else we got."

Dunsparce was pleased to see a few letters stamped "ACCEPTED".

"Dear sir," read Dunsparce, beaming with pride. "Despite not submitting an application, we would gladly welcome you into our ranks. You have the personality most befitting a member of our organization."

"Finally, someone gets it," said Dunsparce, brushing his shoulder.

"As a member of ISIS, your skillset wou-OH GODDAMIT!"

Dunsparce reached for another acceptance letter.

"Dear sir," sighed Dunsparce. "The Incels of your area would like to invite y-"

Dunsparce tore the mail to pieces and seethed with rage. The last piece was a small package, presumably the soap from Oo0. He kicked it furiously and nearly broke his toe.

"Ah! What the hell!" said Dunsparce, hopping on one foot. "Did they enchant this shit?"

Dunsparce grabbed a knife and plunged it into the top of the package. He tore it open and yet there was nothing heavy inside. Just a small vial of ash.

"How could this be so heavy?" asked Dunsparce.

His questioned was answered. The vial absolutely beamed with magical energy.

"This...can't be," said Dunsparce, carefully picking up the vial. "Is this Druby's way of responding to my letters? Or the direct work of Regis himself?"

Dunsparce laughed like he hadn't in years.

"After the war, I'll have to find a way to thank them," smiled Dunsparce. "If I'm summoning who I think I am, this war will be EZ."

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
Chapter 8: Lancer Luck

"Here's your competition," smiled Spiffums. He set a small chest down at Stealthy's feet. "Ciflit, Milamber, and the rest."

"Excellent work," said Stealthy loudly, hoping his voice reached the pocket dimensions. "I'll keep them safe and sound until the Cookie War is over. Wouldn't want to violate our contract."

Without standing, Stealthy used his cane to shove the small chest underneath the coffee table. It hit a table leg with a thud, and an assistant brought the two of them drinks.

"One thing confuses me though," said Spiffums. "There must be a war for the Cookie to be summoned, correct?"

"Correct," said Stealthy, taking a sip of fine scotch. "If less than seven masters summon their servants, it is not a true war, and the Cookie cannot be summoned."

Spiffums opened his mouth to speak, but Stealthy knew the heart of his question.

"I knew that the headmaster's errand boy would be the one to deliver the catalysts," said Stealthy. "When we were gathered to sign the rules of engagement, I muttered a small wind spell to cause him to trip into me. I replaced Recon's delivery instructions in his coat pocket with my own."

"And you ensured that the catalysts would be delivered to lesser mages who pose no real threat to you," Spiffums deducted.

Stealthy nodded.

"Competent and willing enough to participate in the Cookie War," said Stealthy. "But as you said, no real threat."

An assistant approached Stealthy.

"Sir," said the servant. "The courier is at the gate, as you said."

"Very well," said Stealthy. "Keep the electrical field up and bring the package to me."

Stealthy carefully stood up and walked towards the grand one-way window that faced his courtyard. Spiffums joined him.

They saw TC in the distance, holding a package and rocking on his heels. The gate opened, and he took two steps forward before jumping backwards, nearly dropping the package. His hair sprang outward. Even at this distance, they heard him yelp.

The duo stifled a chuckle as the assistant walked out to the gate and retrieved the package from the jolted boy. A few moments later he was on his way.

"Come," motioned Stealthy.

Spiffums followed him to a a small dark room well-equipped for summoning. The assistant set the package down at Stealthy's feet. Stealthy nodded, and the assistant left. Stealthy knelt and began opening the package.

"Notice the brilliant teal light that shines when I remove the lid," said Stealthy. "Most catalysts do not contain magical energy levels even near the amount of the one show to you."

"Ah," smiled Spiffums, scanning the room for a coaster. "So you also ensured you were adorned with the strongest servant out of the seven Recon retrieved."

"Precisely," said Stealthy with a smirk. "Behold the assurance of our victory. The Lord of Time, Tirin the Teal!"

Stealthy undid the last string and pulled the lid of the package.

No light shined forth, though there was certainly a measure of magical energy coming from within the package.

Stealthy's face went pale, and he gently drew a single ancient dancing shoe out of the package.

"It seems you discounted one factor," said Spiffums carefully, knowing open laughter would cost him dearly. "You assumed that foolish errand boy had the competence to follow your instructions correctly!"

Stealthy clenched his fist till his hand bled, then let out a single sigh.

"No matter," said Stealthy, suddenly calm. "I've prepared enough to win this war with a Lancer."

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
Chapter 9: Recall

"Heeey Headmaster," said TC, poking his head into Recon's office. "I finished delivering those packages like you requested."

"Good," said Recon, typing madly at his keyboard. "Did all go as planned?"

"Yes!" said TC.

"Then you may go," said Recon, casting a small spell to close the office door.

"Oof, ah!" yelped TC.

Recon looked up. TC's head was holding the door open.

"Okay maybe there was one thing about the packages," smiled TC.

The door flung open and TC fell on his face. By the time he stood up Recon had strode forward to meet him.

"I uh, followed the instructions you gave," stammered TC as he pulled out a sheet of paper. "But I accidentally switched these two packages. Jeroth got Stealthy's package, and Stealthy got Jeroth's package..."

Recon breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's okay TC," said Recon. "I mean, you're still a dumbass. But our promise was to randomize who got which catalyst. If you added some unplanned randomness to the mix, it won't-wait did you say JEROTH!?"

Recon snatched the paper from TC's trembling hands. He gasped aloud.

"There are not my instructions!" shouted Recon. "TC, what did you do with the instructions I gave you!?"

"Those are them! I swear!" cowered TC.

Recon shoved him to the ground. Lines of code appeared in the air as Recon's fury grew.

"None of these are the correct addresses!" said Recon. "The only correct Master on here...is...goddamit."

The lines of code dissipated as Recon facepalmed. The phone rang. Recon scrambled to answer it.

"Blooky, we have a problem," said Recon, searching through his desk for booze with his spare hand.

"You're damn right we do," said Blooky over the phone. "The only Master who's confirmed receipt of their catalyst is Stealthy. Everyone else has gone dark."

"Stealthy," growled Recon. "Blooky, there's been foul play. I know where the catalysts are, and who they've been delivered to. I'm heading to the clubhouse now. We're issuing a total recall. Call Druby and have him meet us there. We need to retrieve the catalysts before Heroes are summoned!"

"Understood," said Blooky, and Recon hung up the phone.

"What should I do?" asked TC as he picked himself off the ground again.

"Keep an eye on my office," barked Recon as he stormed out of the room. "Make sure the final catalyst is secured!"

"Aye, aye!" saluted TC, who stood there awkwardly.

"Wait," thought TC with a smile. "The final catalyst is in here?"

TC rocked on his heels and thought foolish thoughts.

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
Chapter 10: Inadequate

"You almost done?" asked Jow.

"Almost," said Jeroth, finalizing the patterns required to summon the Archer. There was no one else in the empty lot.

"An AoE invisibility spell shouldn't be that taxing for you," questioned Jeroth. "Unless a mage is trying to look into it."

"I don't think it's that," said Jow, staring at the back entrance to his favorite ramen shop. "I just want to get another bowl."

"Just a few minutes more," said Jeroth. "The summoning ritual is complete. It usually just takes a few minutes fo-"

A brilliant teal light shined among them from the summoning circle. In the time it took Jeroth to blink, there was a large man holding him a foot off the ground by his school uniform. The warrior inspecting him was a thirty-something year old man of medium build. He had a neat, simple beard and brilliant teal armor. Same height as Jeroth. Depending on how light struck it this armor appeared dark as the bottom of the sea or blinding as the sun. A cape gracing his shoulders contained dimensions unknown. Neither Jeroth nor Jow had ever seen a pattern like this. It seemed unreal, and in most realities was just that.

"Lord of Time," whispered Jeroth painfully through the fingers that clutched his throat. "Tirin the Teal. It is I who summoned you to this mortal plane."

Tirin plucked the presidential pin from Jeroth's school uniform and inspected it.

"What pathetic society of magic users would honor a mongrel like you," said Tirin, tossing the pin aside. "When you were born inadequate."

Tirin dropped Jeroth onto the ground.

"I-" said Jeroth, before he was interrupted.

"You're what, a second generation mage? Perhaps a first?" mocked Tirin. "Your blood barely has any mana flowing through it. I am surprised you could even summon me into this wretched plane. You are not worthy of my service."

Jeroth closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

"You will find that I accomplish much with very little," said Jeroth sternly. "I am considered a very skilled mage by my peers, and so they honor me as their class president. Where others require more mana flowing through their blood to accomplish their goals, I require but a thimble."

Jeroth paused.

"Very few know of my weak bloodline," said Jeroth looking downward. "But I assure you Archer, I have made this weakness a strength. You will find none like me."

"Efficient and effective you may be," chided Tirin. "But my powers are vast. Wonderful. Terrible. A lesser vessel like you could not provide the mana my prowess deserves."

Jeroth clenched his fist as Tirin turned away from him.

"You there, casting this invisibility barrier," said Tirin, glaring at Jow. "I sense there is much mana at your command. I take it you're a sixth-generation mage?"

Jow nodded.

"Good," said Tirin. "You will make a more suitable vessel. Dispose of this whelp for me, and we shall discuss this War."

"Eh, no thanks," shrugged Jow. "I'm just here for the ramen. And to help out Jeroth."

"You dare disobey me?" growled Tirin.

A falchion crackling with unknown energies appeared in Tirin's hand, and he placed the point near Jow's neck. Jow did not move.

Jow nodded at Jeroth and smiled.

"Jeroth is my friend," said Jow. "You are truly powerful, but my loyalty is to Jeroth to the end."

"The strong should not serve the weak!" bellowed Tirin, pressing the blade within a hair's breadth of Jow's neck.

"Jeroth," said Jow carefully. "Is not. Weak."

"Fool," muttered Tirin.

Tirin drew the blade back, either to sheath it or spill blood. Jeroth didn't give him the chance.

"If you are truly the most powerful Hero," said Jeroth stepping forward. "And your powers are wonderful, terrible as the tales say."

Tirin turned to face Jeroth.

"Then even if limited to a fraction of your power," continued Jeroth. "The Cookie War shall be an easy victory for you. And when it is done, the legend of Tirin the Teal will spread further. The Lord of Time who won a Cookie War even while willingly limiting his great strength."

Tirin laughed skyward.

"Your honeyed words have no doubt served you well in life, whelp," said Tirin. "You've amused me, and somehow have convinced your more capable peers to serve you. I can respect that."

Tirin outstretched a hand to Jeroth.

"I will accept you as my commander. For now," said Tirin. "But if I find a more suitable master, our arrangement will be peacefully terminated."

"Agreed," said Jeroth, putting his hand out just as Tirin drew his back.

"And," added Tirin. "I do things my own way. I won't be following orders I deem foolish."

"I would work beside the Lord of Time in no other way," smiled Jeroth, and they clasped hands. "Our first order of business is to secure a secondary source of mana."

"Good," said Tirin.

"Just one question," said Jeroth. "Why is your summoning catalyst a pen?"

"Unimportant," said Tirin, turning away. "Come, we have a war to win."
Last edited:


Right Honorable Justice
In reality Reent towers over Tirin and everyone else, though. Just sayin'. Mo'fucker's like eight foot tall.

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
Chapter 11: The Slothful King

A flash of light filled the bathroom. Suddenly a very large man stood in Coolpool's bathtub.

"Hey," said the man.

"Hiya," said Coolpool.

The man was tall and wide with a jolly belly. He wore golden armor and a golden crown on his head. Body hair stuck out of the grooves in his armor, and a large beard kept his face warm. He appeared surprisingly youthful.

"I thought I was summoning a sloth," said Coolpool, looking at the sloth emblem engraved on the man's shield and the hilt of his scimitar.

"In a way, I guess you did," smiled the strange man. "My name's Shizno. Ancient king and ruler, yadda yadda. Most famous for the glorious feasts I hold. Lots of sleeping too. I like sleeping almost as much as eating!"

"I think I've heard of you," said Coolpool. "I thought you lived to be an old man. Why do you appear younger?"

"I'm...sixty four," said Shizno, counting on his fingers. "But I've only been awake for like, twenty of those years. I am both the oldest Rider-class servant, and the youngest-looking."

Shizno beamed with pride.

"Cool cool," said Coolpool. "Okay, you can go now."

"Huh?" said Shizno.

"Yeah, just needed to do this summoning assignment for class," said Coolpool. "You can go. Either return to your plane or go outside if you want to stay, I guess."

Shizno laughed deep from his belly, and the joyous sound filled the room.

"You are a funny one, Master," said Shizno. "It would be near impossible to win a Cookie War with no Hero by your side."

"You're nuts," said Coolpool. "I don't want to fight a war. I don't even want to go outside. I just summoned you for a class."

Shizno continued chuckling, and reality dawned on Coolpool.

"Aw geeze," groaned Coolpool. "How'd I get mixed up into a Cookie War? This must be some kind of mean prank."

"Oh Master," said Shizno, clasping Coolpool's shoulder. "Let's grab a drink or six and discuss your desires. Surely you have a wish you'd like the Cookie to grant?"

"Nope," said Coolpool, walking out of the bathroom. "Would you mind leaving? I need to complete the rest of my schoolwork, or figure out how to tie a noose. Whichever's easier."

"Now Master," said Shizno, stepping out of the tub he barely fit in. "This is no time for lesser tasks. The other Masters and their Servants will surely be trying to take your life. I say we either prepare for their arrival, or be merry lazy couch potatoes until they show up."

"I guess the other Masters would be trying to kill me," thought Coolpool. "Awesome. That makes it easy. You want to watch anime until they show up?"

"What's anime?" asked Shizno as he opened the fridge and started making a sandwich.

"You watch a pretend reality happen with all these cute characters as they have emotions over weird stuff," said Coolpool. "I usually eat junk food and feel like garbage while I watch."

"That sounds...amazing," said Shizno, pausing as he finished his second sandwich. "You want any food?"

"Yeah, can you grab the chips from the cupboard?" asked Coolpool. "My name's Coolpool by the way."

"A pleasure to serve you, Coolpool," said Shizno. "Do you want the sweet chili chips, or the honey-mustard ones?"

"Oooh, both," smiled Coolpool as he turned on the TV. "What a good day this is turning out to be."


Well-Known Member
The hell is Fate?

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
The hell is Fate?
A weeb-ass anime with many incarnations and only a few really good ones.

It's basically a Harry Potter-esque world in terms of magic, except pretty much every magic user's an elitist asshole, and your potential for gitting gud mostly depends on how much magic shit your family line has done. Every generation or so, the Holy Grail itself shows up to grant a wish (I wish I was joking). In order to determine who gets to make the wish, there's a battle royale between seven magic users (masters) and seven historical heroic spirits that they summon (servants/heroes). Usually there's a governing body overseeing the battle royale to make sure it's nice clean competition, but it never fucking is.

So you got Jack the Ripper versus Joan of Arc in one corner, and King Arthur vs Gilgamesh vs Alexander the Great in another corner. Each heroic spirit has a particular class as well as an ultimate ability that they can only use every so often. Also sometimes heroes get genderbent out of nowhere. (King Arthur is a girl and Jack the Ripper is a goddamn loli.) Kinda makes you think, "this premise for a plot sounds like some kind of terrible, old, lewd Japanese visual novel garbage". And that is exactly where this all started, which is why I'm so distraught that my partner keeps telling people I'm "writing self-insertion Fate fan fiction". God I want to throw up now.

Nevermind, Salsy. After actually typing out what this is, I think I feel too disgusted to continue writing this series.


Right Honorable Justice
Excuse me, but I take serious issue with exactly two statements recently put forth about the Fate/series:

1) Claiming there are "many incarnations" of the series and "only a few really good ones" is bullshit. There are, in fact, many incarnations - one of them is really good, a few range between 'okay' and 'mediocre', and the rest are bad or worse.

2) "The Holy Grail itself." It's not the actual Holy Grail, it's a thing wizards made to grant wishes~* and then called that. They clarified that multiple times throughout Fate/Zero, though fuck if I know what they said before that. Who cares, really?

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
Chapter 12: Escape From Prison Island

Darkness shrouded the shores of Prison Island as the summoning completed. The area around the catalyst shook, and Andy's humble shack collapsed inwards.

"Grr," said Andy, shoving a rotten beam off himself. "Shouldn't have summoned this bloke inside."

When Andy stood up, he was no longer standing on his barren shore. A land of darkness was before him, emanating from a hooded figure in front of him. Tendrils of darkness sprung from the hooded man, who wore purple and black garments over light armor. Uncanny whispers and inhuman shapes moved across the sky, and the ground itself seemed to boil with a horrible coldness.

"Ey, what are you up to?" asked Andy. A gleaming red eye appeared from under the hood, and a deep dark voice spoke out.

"Foolish creature of blood and flesh," said the being. "You touch my mind, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding."

"What is this place, Caster?" asked Andy, looking around.

"This is a realm of existence so far beyond your own you cannot even imagine it," said the being. "My realm is beyond comprehension."

"Alright then," said Andy, taking a step forward. "And who are you?"

Andy caught a glimpse of a smile beneath the hood, one adorned with pointed teeth.

"I am the end of evolution and existence," said the being. "I am the one who came before, and all that will remain in the end. I am Shadow!"

Shadow raised his hands and the ground boiled faster. He cackled as the skies cracked and shattered in a terrifying display.

The dark reality vanished and the quiet nature of Prison Island's shore reappeared instantly, the moment Andy put Shadow in a headlock.

"Pleased to meet you, ya theatrical cunt!" smiled Andy. He tossed off Shadow's hood and gave his short brown hair a rough noogie. "The name's Andy! We're gonna be working together!"

Shadow elbowed Andy in the gut and slipped out of his grasp. He pulled his hood back over his face and prepared a fatal spell.

"Oh, don't mind that," said Andy cheerfully, walking towards Shadow. "Just a standard Prison Island headlock greeting. Just how we say hello in these parts."

Shadow cast deadly lightning at Andy, who casually side-stepped the blast with ease. Shadow gasped.

"Haha, almost got me mate," said Andy. "You got spunk, I like you."

Shadow thought of casting another spell, this time at point-blank range. He took the time to observe his surroundings instead. The island shores were completely devoid of life. Shadow sensed no significant source of mana that he could head to, with the sole exception of his bizarre summoner. He was stuck with Andy. For now.

"Now, I'm thinking we use your powers to escape this crummy island," said Andy. "Then, we'll track down the other Masters, kick their asses, and get our wish granted by the Cookie. Sound good?"

Andy stuck his hand out.

"Sounds good," echoed Shadow, as he shook Andy's hand.

Andy smiled wider than he had in years. Shadow smiled too, having crossed the fingers on his other hand.


Right Honorable Justice
Fuck, my hypothetical money was on Tirin being the Caster.

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
Chapter 13: Blood and Spirit

Bob finished the incantation, and soon a puddle of light appeared in the middle of the summoning circle.

"Heh, finally!" said a confident voice coming from the puddle. Thunderous applause and cheerful shouts came from the portal. Large gauntlets grasped the edges of the puddle and the applause increased. Roses flew from the portal onto the ice rink.

A young man flung himself into the air out of the puddle as it closed. He did two flips in the air before landing on one knee and his gauntlets. The THUD from his gauntlets cracked the ice and knocked Bob on his as.

Bob looked up. The heroic spirit in front of him wasn't larger than life, but his biceps were enormous. He had a young face, brilliant smile, short curly hair, and simple armor. He wore massive gauntlets made of an ancient metal, and held the summoning catalyst in one of them.

"Been too long since I was summoned to an arena," said the man. "This one's weird. Calls for interesting footwork though."

The man looked down at Bob and offered him a hand.

"Name's Easy. Easy Rider," said the man. "Rock works too."

Bob wrapped his hand around one of the gauntlet's massive fingers and pulled himself up.

"Bob," said Bob. "So you're the famous gladiator Rock? thought you were a Saber?"

"Oh, I'm a Saber," smiled Easy. "Don't let the name fool you. I'm skilled in all kinds of combat, got perception for days, acrobatic as can be, champion of justice, and smart enough to engineer pretty much anything."

Easy flexed the fingers of his gauntlets as if to show off the pinnacle of his engineering prowess.

"Very impressive," said Bob.

Easy popped the cap off the bottle in his hand just by smiling at it. He drained it instantly and shattered the bottle on the ground.

"Mm," said Easy. "One of my better brews. You got any more?"

"...sure we can get more beer," said Bob. "But there's a Cookie War going on. We should probably focus on that first."

"Wise," said Easy, getting close to Bob and inspecting him thoroughly.

He did this for several seconds.

"Nice biceps," concluded Easy, drawing back. "Sure. We can work together. Provided you aren't a Czech by blood or spirit."

"Not that I'm aware of," shrugged Bob.

"Hmm," said Easy. "What's your wish? For when we get the Cookie."

"I...don't know, I'm still thinking about it," said bob sheepishly. He turned away from Easy. "I guess it would be really cool to play for the Hounds."

"You just want to be a cool modern gladiator?" said Easy. "Gonna be honest bro, that's pretty lame."

Bob sighed.

"I'm still figuring a lot out," said Bob. "I don't have much ambition, I'm satisfied with what I have even if it isn't incredible. Maybe I just want to be doing something that makes a bigger impact with my life. Or not. I don't know."

"We can work with that," said Easy, rubbing his stubbled chin. "Just think more about it as we go. So long as I find your conduct just, I swear to be by your side till one or both of us is dead."

"Thanks," said Bob, shaking Easy's hand. "If you have an objection to something, just let me know. I wouldn't want you to do something you're personally against."

"I appreciate that," said Easy earnestly. "You have a plan in place yet?"

"I have the start of one," said Bob. "I used to work at this classified mana storage facility back when I was going to this stupid elitist mage academy. I think I know how to get in quietly and take a ton of mana. Do you think you could use an unlimited supply of mana for something helpful?"

"Oh, buddy," said Easy, painfully clapping Bob on the back. "You have no idea what I can put together with enough parts and mana to power it."

"You ready to go?" asked Bob, as he began texting his manager about taking a week off.

Easy noticed a shadow in the corner of the stadium, but it vanished.

"Yeah," said Easy, staying alert. "Let's go."
Last edited:


Right Honorable Justice
Wholesome! Thought I might end up Berserker for a while, there.

Ah fuck, I suspect I know who the Berserker is now.
Top Bottom