"" I think I regret the time I just had to die goblins. Since
the forces of evil had swept the four kingdoms of Ragnar, Paxton Fettel felt both motivated and overtaken by events. Time dungeons and hunts trolls now belonged to history. His faithful companion
Morgados he remarked that he had assailed an ogre there just two days after that. But Paxton sky was filled with dragons invincible. His sword was not so honed, and the best sharpeners had perished in the fire of Samarkand.
"What do you want to face a dragon? Paxton whimpered.
-Surviving is not bad. It is their feet. Be
Knight at this time fell almost unconscious. For armor melt under the hot breath of the giant lizards, and swords just flay their scales. Basically it was useless to hide its face, Paxton Fettel might be eaten even before he took out his weapon from its scabbard.
-In the best case, he quipped, all I can do is slow down a dragon not too huge for two minutes.
-Two minutes is already something, "said Morgados. "
Joell lays the leaves and I noted that it is a bit low for an end of chapter. He puts the text on the back seat, and Roger there ready not careful. I request him if he does not jump start to make me happy.
"I know why you keep your fucking winter coat," he said, pulling on my hood.
-No you do not know. I
flaps on Joell conversation, which is not very rich. He tells me he thinks I am glad now when I say I am Irving Rutherford. I sigh and focus on the road, long and monotonous. He added that he never knows when I write about me or not, and anyway I prefer when he recounts the adventures of my friends.
-How it is called now, the ninja?
Xavier.
No, it's not him. It's ... Vincent. No?
Vincent is another.
I do not know if it was the public that it deserves. To please Roger, I questioned him on his mission, and the future of which it comes. Still distant, he explains laboriously that the world which he has probably never exist. Not since I accidentally created an evil twin.
Irving Rutherford disrupts the equation, "he summarizes. It is not just a history of literature.
It was never a question of literature. Paris is close now, and I do not know exactly what type of fight we're going to lead. But I have more on my Kalashnikov in the trunk on my lazy prose.
A stray bullet just burst a tire of the car, which swerved as I do not control. I miss driving hours. The vehicle overturned a revolutionary armed with a submachine gun, which strikes our windshield and pass through. Roger yells from the backseat, while Joell gives great nudge to our riding for him to drop his weapon. Myself and I cry like a little girl when the car fits into a lamppost.
head pushed into the airbag, I tell myself that at least we got to Paris.
off my belt and I go out of my vehicle to run to safety, notifying to my accomplices to follow me. I street behind a truck, avoiding the bullets whistling, without looking back. Congratulations, you've got you just planted between the revolutionaries and the army.
Shouts and cries echo hollow points his nose above the noise bursts. It is full of rage that would have once terrorized. The walls of the Haussmann buildings are riddled with bullet holes that look old. Paris is Paris.
I turned towards the car and observed Joell struggling with the lifeless body of revolution. Roger, it has simply disappeared. I signaled to the road to join me at the shelter, and after a short time of hesitation, he rushes to join me.
It's a miracle, given as it crawls, it arrives to me unharmed. He panted like a seal, while the revolutionaries began to chant hymns of their own, in some military scrubs. But they are better equipped, and the response is terrible.
A squadron of smoke grenades flying over the street, obscuring everything in its path. The roar of an armored vehicle covers for a moment the sound of gunfire, and a deathly silence settles for a few seconds, disturbed by the crackling of broken glass crushed under the tracks of the craft demonic.
I ask where is Joell Roger passed this asshole.
-Who?
I drop and my eyes misty seeking a way out. The two forces will never stop advancing toward one another, and none seems determined to let go of the land. I'm just in the middle.
Roger had to find a way out of everything. I inspect the doors of buildings quickly, and finds one ajar a little further exposed.
The street is filled with smoke, and I do not see that coming rocket strikes the armored vehicle. The military orders shouted in every direction, as if the discipline was going to save their lives. The rioters are content to cry joy.
Some climb on cars, full of joy, before they rush to their opponents. Several were killed by gusts before they made ten meters. Joel and I get run like a fool to the door I saw. The road crying like a child.
I shoot almost inside the building and shut the door behind us. He collapses on the floor and moans incoherently. I probably would have let the Swiss border.
"You're with them," he stutters.
I am with someone, Joell.
"You're in the street with them.
A discharge passes between my two ears, and I bite the tongue. Driven by an uncontrollable urge, I open the door to take a look at the street. That's my biggest mistake of the day.
Irving Rutherford is standing on a car among the revolutionaries. He brandished a pistol gesturing toward the military. With a certain majesty, he descends from his perch and advance towards the enemy while walking down the weapon, with a confidence that scares a little fellow.
I personally find that he tells it a little. I grab a stone floor, and without thinking, I throw it at him hoping that he makes him swallow his smile. But I've never been fucked to aim properly, and my shot the lack of a good meter.
Irving turns to me and I decipher a mixture of anger, surprise and weariness in his eyes reptilian. His mouth drooling flames that consume me if I did not take station. I found my dragon.
I rushed towards the car which I came, dancing with gusts through the smoke. Some grenades are flying in jets and disperse lethal in both camps, which are now really close. I do not have much time. I open hastily
the trunk of the car, and lifts the cloth that covers the machine gun. I get a charger, and try to make it fit in the socket. But the gun is still also seized, and my fingers are trembling too. Irving
background on me with a terrible slowness. The sun is shining up his scales. He walks up to me, impervious to chaos, as sure of his power, while I busy myself to charge my Kalashnikov. He raises his gun towards me and smiled, revealing a row of fangs. I blame my stupidity with reason for coming back to do shit. "I've slowed
two minutes," I whispered. Even not-
. Its claws
press the trigger. The gun goes off at close range, and I stay up a split second, as if suspended by the sheer force of will. Then it's as if I sank about myself. Bend my legs and my back is bent, and I collapse on the ground quietly and without rancor.
When I open my eyes, night has fallen. The street is deserted, and I'm a corpse, among others. My chest hurts a dog, and I sat down heavily. When I search my pockets, I realize that my cigarettes have disappeared.
I take the bullet imbedded in the lining of my thick winter coat. Never seen a dud as strong.
A small cold wind makes me realize that I also stole my sneakers. I do not need to cast a glance to know that the gun has also disappeared. Now I know how much it costs a bullet hole.
For the rest I can still learn. Because everything I have left is the fierce need to be a better man, and the secret desire to overcome my evil twin. But it's monstrously hard to get out of mediocrity.
I get up and walk a few meters down the street devastated. The smell of corpses burns my throat and shards of glass pierce my socks and stood on my feet. Slowly, I removed the coat that saved my life and abandons the battlefield, thinking he has fulfilled his role. I imagine this becoming an instant acrobat moron who refuses safety nets to impress the idiots.
I'm going up the building where I left Joell, and knocks on the door. The Swiss opens me with a sallow complexion, t-shirt stained with vomit. I take my most reassuring voice to tell him that is going to see friends of mine. Seeing that he does not respond, I pull her by promising that he will die if he stays there. We go
Capital disfigured lump in his throat. Cries sometimes we reach the corners of streets, we take care to avoid. The street lights are off, and streets changed. I can hardly find my way.
What can I do?
The night passes like a nightmare calm, and we are soon at Vincent. The household has not been done in the stairwell for ages, and in the hall garbage piling up and seem to deny all hope.
I climb the stairs four at my feet despite mutilated. Joell, still sounded a bit, just to follow me and I take a few floors in advance. But it is exhausted as I knock on the door of Vincent. When I open myself
see his face revulsion. With a sudden fury, I leaned back to make me fall, and I can not find the strength to ask him why. When I stick a gun to his head, I realize that he had in hand before opening.
"It's me, said I, comprising instinctively Irving Rutherford did not leave my friends alone as he had promised.
-Prove to me that's you, "he orders me.
-I ... I am the only person who knows that you do every Sunday the hustler making you call "Monica bitch." His face relaxes
a bit. I replied that I confuse with my mother, and removed his gun from my face.
Notes:-Chaos unclear
Vincent not aggressive enough
Soon: Xavier Biffle
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