They were pyromancers. And skeletal warriors. And gods. And mud-covered barbarians wielding magical ice swords.
They were two children with sticks.
They swung at each other, making clanging sounds when it suited them, but mostly just clashing the sticks.
In one’s mind, they were using energy weapons, making the air quiver. To the other, he was a pirate, backdropped by the sea racing up and around in climbing waves.
A parry. A clang. Both had taken fencing classes, had some experience with some real weapons.
So they could make those sticks a bit dangerous.
Billy swung at a low angle, forcing the other to step back, lest Ken get hit in the stomach. Ken was on the defensive.
They were fighting over a bit of lava. No, in a forest as a pair of samurai. No! Inside the core of a planet! They were knights, dismounted and dealing with this by the honorable practice of a duel to the death.
A swipe angled inward almost hit Ken on the arm. It took a rapid response, barely in range to hit even if unblocked, to drive Billy backward.
Ken had the opening now—a push back to being aggressive. Sure, they were using sticks—but that did not mean you did not swing as hard as you could. And, as they were sticks, they could only take so much force and pressure and impact. A single grand attack made Billy’s burst into a million pieces.
It made a cloud of dust. A way to escape. Perhaps a smoke bomb from a ninja, or a magical spell to escape death?
Billy, now disarmed, spun around and ran, scooping up a stick as he did so, and turned to face his opponent, only for Ken’s sheer confidence of attack to easily overwhelm him and push him further back. Billy lashed out, taking desperate chances.
Ken had an almost casual indifference to the blows he was smacking away. A looseness to the motion. He was in more danger of dropping his blade than of losing the fight.
Billy lunged, one last attempt before a stick slammed down on the back of his neck—though pulled back as to not hurt him terribly. Billy, as they had all practiced, faked death easily, collapsing to the ground and letting out a grunt of mostly faked pain.
“Well met,” Ken said and ran off for the next battle. The whole playground was full of combative mages and knights and mutants and aliens, wielding holy blades, and demon blades, and buzzing manifestations of pure energy.
Or, rather, kids having some fun.
Special thanks to: Bob Gerkin, Collin Pearman, Dylan Alexander, Jerry Banfield, and Michael The Comic Nerd.
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“Just Another Chosen One is a blisteringly paced, action-soaked debut from author Brandon Scott, sure to appeal to those who’ve gotten tired of reading the same old stories about the child of prophecy destined to save the world.”