“Woah, this place is so cool!” To Xard’s annoyance, the man dressed as a monk ran around the room without a care, ignoring him entirely. “So this is an underground bunker? I’ve never been in one before. Well not one that looks like this with the support beams and open lights. Hey, how are we breathing? Are there air vents I can’t see?”
The man didn’t even wait for an answer before continuing to ramble. “I guess I always live in an underground bunker actually, but it doesn’t really look like this. I even forget that it’s underground at all. You should come see it sometime. Want to see it? I’ve taken a lot of pictures!”
Was this crazy person really about to let Xard see confidential pictures of the Central Peace headquarters if he agreed. The monk walked over and wrapped an arm around Xard’s shoulder like they were best buds, pulled up his phone with the other and started scrolling.
“This is my room. It is not very pretty, but I have done my best to make it pretty. I had a bunch of sand and gravel dumped on the floor to make it into a zen garden. Here’s yesterday’s garden, and here’s the one from two weeks ago. This is my fish, Fishiest Fish. I call him that because he is the fishiest fish I’ve ever known. Also, the only one I’ve ever known.”
“Here is the cafeteria. I had some nice… ehh what do you all call it again? Ah yes, hashbrowns that meal. So many words, easy to forget sometimes. Here are the runes I drew on Jaid’s sword to make it stronger. Here is the proof I had to send to Jaid that I cleaned her sword.”
“Oh, here is the assignment they sent me for this mission. This is a picture of the guy I was specifically sent to capture since I’m the only one who can do it properly. Wait, this guy sure does look familiar.” The monk craned his neck to look at Xard’s face. “Oh, it’s you! You are the Mr. Xard Randex Artillery. Well that’s sure convenient for me. Fortunate day!”
Xard took that as his cue to break away from the man and put some distance between them. “Let me introduce myself,” the monk stowed his phone and bowed. “My name is Many Thoughts May Spring a Leak. But since my comrades find that name too long and confusing, everyone calls me Dura because of my Curse. They also call me The Maddening Monk. And unfortunately for you, Mr. Xard Randex Artillery, I was only given two tasks for the mission.”
“The first was to destroy the barrier which is now pretty raining dust sparkles. Means I have so much time for my second mission, which is to capture you, Mr. Xard Randex Artillery. No other Fiend or soldier they trust with the job but me. Makes me feel quite special, yes.”
“But since so much time to kill, we have many options to pick from. Would you like to keep hanging out for a while and then I can capture you later? Or I could capture you now and we just talk until the raid is done. Or I could chase you around for a while and then capture you when you get tired. What is your preference, Mr. Xard Randex Artillery?”
“Just Xard is fine,” he insisted, still trying to process the spout of information that wouldn’t stop gushing out of the monk—his words blazing at a lage per minute. “Why don’t we just have a fair, regular fight, Dura? You had to have expected that’s what would happen when you were brought here.”
“We can do that if you want, Mr. Xard. But I warn you that I am not much of a fighter. The precepts I followed for most of my life did not allow for violence, so I’m afraid I would disappoint you with my punches. My Curse is not made for offense either. It is almost purely defensive, but it is also good for restraining. So I am mostly given tasks for capture and support.”
“But you are welcome to attack me if you like, Mr. Xard,” Dura spread his limbs wide, leaving himself open to assault. “Feel free to consider me your punching bag and fight me as much as you like until you tire yourself out. It will still hurt me, but it will not break me, so do your worst. But please do not attack my head. If you attack my head, I will have to take action, and if I have to take action, we will no longer be having fun.”
Xard only stared at Dura for the next few moments, but the monk didn’t falter. Was this guy even really a Fiend? He certainly had the personality of one, but his appearance would let him hide in plain sight—sort of. The way he dressed was far from usual, looking like a monk straight out of fantasy. Xard didn’t know any actually existed until Drim had talked about his time with some of them. From what he could gather, all sects were pretty isolationist.
The outfit would certainly draw attention—baggy and colorful, covering his entire body. But his hair certainly didn’t say Fiend. It was pretty short, shaved close to the head, likely as close as being a Fiend would allow. But it was oh-so-generically brown like could be found on billions of people around the world. It made Xard wonder what his original hair color was, assuming he didn’t stay completely bald like most depictions of monks he’d seen.
His eggplant colored eyes were far more telling, but probably wouldn’t turn too many heads. Still, he had done something to the barrier, that much couldn’t be denied. There wasn’t technology in existence that could disable it from the outside so it had to be a Fiend power. What could it be? Nathym had welcomed them to do strength tests on the barrier, and no matter what they threw, it never faltered.
The only thing left was to test it out and see how it went. Xard would be foolish to not take Dura up on his offer of a free shot. Unless… was he being baited? Did the monk have some kind of similar reflection or energy inversion power? That could explain the barrier. What would that have to do with his name, though?
Enough thinking for now. He’d just have to start applying variables. For the first test, Xard went with his usual opener of shooting the opponent in the kneecap. It was a cheapshot, sure, but it was absurdly effective. Most of the time, he didn’t need to try anything else.
“That stung a bit, Mr. Xard!” Dura reported with the same big grin on his face that never left. “I may even need to put some ointment on that later.” Even with a Fiend’s resistance, that still should have gone through, but there wasn’t a scratch on him—not even on his clothes. This led Xard to believe that Dura himself was generating some kind of barrier around him, but it required more tests.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
This time, Xard let out a decent blast directly into Dura’s chest. It wasn’t anything that’d kill him, but it should still knock him on his ass. But Dura didn’t fall over at all. Instead the blast just pushed him backwards about an inch, sliding on his feet. “That one felt like a slap to the stomach!” It should have felt like a debilitating punch to the gut.
Next, Xard repeated the shot, but made it a beam this time. It continued to push Dura back, but that's all it did. When the monk got close to the wall, he started walking back to the center of the room, pushing against the beam. “This is fun, Mr. Xard! It reminds me of walking through blizzards back up on the mountains. This is a good workout.”
Now, Xard was starting to get fed up. Would none of his attacks work on this guy? At the very least, Xard wanted some visible sign of damage or progress, so he decided to go all in on attacking Dura’s clothing.
Xard sliced his fingers through the air repeatedly sending several thin blades of energy through the air to try and rip his clothes to shreds. It was an endless bombardment to the point that his arms were starting to get a little tired from repeating the same motion. But what finally got him to stop was Dura’s laughter. “Ha ha haha hahaha ha ha! Mr. Xard. That tickles! So many tickles! I am going to wet myself!”
Nothing would stop an attacker in their tracks like the threat of piss all over the place. What's more, the monk’s clothing remained completely untarnished so it was a pointless endeavor. Now Xard needed to find out what it was made out of. Whatever it was, it sure was durable.
…Wait. I’m an idiot. Durable… Durability… Dura. Xard was kicking himself for not putting together something so simple and obvious. “You can control the durability of items, can’t you?”
“Very good, Mr. Xard!” Dura began clapping enthusiastically. “You are much more brilliant than the report says you are. I was going to just tell you if you didn't figure it out in four more moves. But now you see why fighting is pointless, yes?”
“This Curse would not help me beat you. Even if I ruined your clothing, there’s not much else I could do. Meanwhile, your attacks will never destroy my clothing, and in turn, will never defeat me. Unless you want us both to strip and wrestle with what Cosmos gave us. I would not be opposed, but you would have the clear chance for trickery there.”
“All that is left is for me to capture you. So let me know when you surrender, and I will begin the capturing.”
“Unless I aim for your head.”
“Unless you aim for my head,” Dura reaffirmed. “But as I asked before, please do not aim for my head. You will still not defeat me, and then I will have to get serious.”
“Well, we’re not getting anywhere otherwise.” Xard suddenly raised his finger and fired at Dura’s head. He was actually aiming to scrape the side of his cheek, leaving a shallow cut at best, but it was still certainly his head.
“A scroll?” There was a brief flash in the air in front of Dura’s face that clearly blocked the attack. It was too fast that Xard actually missed the action itself, but now Dura was clutching a furled up scroll in both hands—One hand holding the scroll, the other gripping the tip of the sheet, ready to pull immediately.
“Yes, a scroll,” Dura answered. “My comrades tried to get me to use a rope as my main weapon since I am meant to be capturing. But a scroll is wider and better for defending. And I am used to a scroll. Day in, day out, doing nothing but writing on scrolls, all so that bastard could pawn them off on tourists!”
“So many words written, all of them useless. But not allowed to say a single word or you’ll face the wrath of Cosmos. Damn the monks and their lies!” It seemed Dura had some pent up trauma. “Words are beauty when coming from the lips. Sirenic Symphony. I can not get enough. Don’t you agree?”
Xard really had no answer, still not fully contemplating what Dura had said, but the monk moved on. “I will now begin the process of capturing you. Please understand that I no longer have a choice. You have proven hostile towards my wellbeing, so now I must preserve myself by pacifying the dangerous entity. If you do not resist, we will be done soon with no harm to either of us.”
Dura unfurled his scroll a few feet and began walking slowly towards Xard, as if he was a bug that the Monk was about to sneak up on to try and catch under a cup. Xard, of course, wasn’t about to just let him approach and began firing a volley of weak shots towards Dura’s head and hands.
At this point, Xard understood that it was pointless to try and attack any clothed portion of the monk’s body. Any energy he fired would just get obscured by the clothes and severely weakened. The only shots that would do significant enough damage would be ones that’d kill Dura outright, so Xard had to work with what little exposed skin was available.
Each of his shots were still of course nonlethal, aiming to knock Dura out or hurt his hands so that he’d be forced to drop the scroll. But damn, the monk was far more dexterous than Xard ever expected. Dura whipped the scroll around his body as if he was dancing with ribbons to block the shots—a truly impenetrable shield as long as the monk could keep it up.
Dura maintained his pace, slowly walking towards Xard relentlessly. Xard tried to push him back with big blasts a few times, but it only ever slowed him down temporarily. Once Dura got close to backing Xard into a corner, the annoyed red-head would blast himself to a different section of the bunker and make as much distance as possible.
Damn it! Xard was starting to get really frustrated. No matter what he threw, Dura just shrugged it off. There had been one very short-lived moment of victory where Xard had managed to slice Dura’s fingers, but he’d only been rewarded with a single drop of eggplant colored blood. No progress, only agony.
The close-quarters didn’t help either. If they were outside, Xard could hide in the air and really let loose. Maybe he could even produce a strong enough gust that’d send Dura flying. He could possibly try pinning Dura to the wall with energy, but that’d be extremely draining to sustain, and Xard wasn’t confident he could keep it up until Dura passed out from the strain. Plus, it was liable to just break the room apart.
Their efforts to contain the enemy had backfired. It wasn’t like Xard could leave through the hidden exit either and trap Dura in the room. The monk could just turn the walls the equivalent of tissue paper and tear right through it. Now Xard wished he had the foresight of bringing along a pair of draining cuffs like they’d used on Jaid—if even those would work quick enough to restrain him.
Screw it, he was actually going to entertain Dura’s idea of wrestling each other. Xard should have the upper hand, both in strength and combat experience. To try and give himself the element of surprise, Xard suddenly blasted forward at maximum speed. He aimed straight towards Dura’s chest, hoping to scoop him up and then slam him into the wall. That should hopefully debilitate him long enough for Xard to pin him down. Tize had taught him some holds that even a Fiend couldn’t break free of.
It turned out to be the wrong choice.