Closing the door behind me, I stared into the face of the anti Christ himself. I couldn't tell whether he was happy to see me, or angry. I assume the latter, being the fact I threw him out a window. Then again, it may have just been my interpretation of it. His face was contorted into an unnatural shape: half of him was grinning as if gleeful to acknowledge my existence; while the other was a side of pure anger, as if stitched onto his face, it looked out of place on a child. Almost creepy. They say looks can kill, but in reality, all they are is a warning for what's to come.
I prepared myself for the oncoming battle, trying to analyse every little movement of his. The only way for me to win would not be through strength or endurance, but through intelligence, speed and tactics. Like I did last battle, keep your distance, ranged attack and shields should work.
Tensing and keeping my eye on the kid, I awaited his first attack, trying to figure out a way to counter them as well. Then, suddenly he was a blur, but maintained his same position, it looked like he was vibrating intensely, strange.
I raised my hand, might as well make the most of his statue-like posture, "Flame Series: Blitz!" A bright wisp protruded from my palm, and exploded when it came into the contact with the child, an intense heat erupted from the damaged vicinity along with a barrier of smoke, hiding the area from prying eyes. Yet still, there seemed no reaction from the child.
The smoke that shrouded the area previously had dispersed into the area, revealing an empty battleground. He'd vanished into thin air!
"But- That shouldn't be po-" I didn't even have enough time to finish my sentence before I felt a fist connect with my cheek.
YOU ARE READING
The Drunken Storytellings of a Madman.
ActionHe's been roaming the same town for two hundred years, bound to it. Wandering almost aimlessly, all his goals, aspirations, achievements all fuzzy from his monotonous existence. Every day is the same, day in, day out. His only way of amusement resid...
