ALL NOVEL Chapter 13: Full-on Brawl
Fist clenched, veins hardened, Larry's rage surged forth, igniting his rampage. The scene unfolds with the intensity of a bull's charge. His focus locks onto the nearest thug, a target for his fury. A formidable blow lands square on the thug's stomach, the impact so severe that instant retching ensues. Unfazed by the vomit soaking him, Larry pivots, his other arm delivering a thunderous side punch to the thug's face, shattering the jaw joint upon impact.
Simultaneously, from behind, another thug lunges with fists poised. Larry absorbs the punch, but instead of wincing, he grins wide, meeting the attacker's gaze head-on. As the previous adversary crumples to the ground, defeated and unconscious, Larry's leg arcs toward the other thug. The kick lands with precision, obliterating the joint in the thug's knee. The resultant scream echoes pain throughout the air. With a final decisive punch, the thug joins his companion in unconsciousness.
Amidst the escalating chaos, the remaining fifteen-plus thugs emerge from their stupor. A collective realization dawns, and they scramble for makeshift weapons strewn about. Wrenches are grabbed, brass knuckles unfurled from pockets, and baseball bats are drawn from bags. One glaring truth stands out—firearms are notably absent from their arsenal.
Another figure hurtled towards Larry, his hands adorned with brass knuckles that gleamed menacingly. But this time, something was different. The barbarian's approach was not the same as before. There was a certain calculated resolve in his movements, a deliberate shift in strategy. He didn't brace himself for the impending impact, nor did he seek to absorb the attack head-on. Instead, with a sudden burst of energy, he launched an unexpected uppercut, his massive fist connecting squarely with the thug's chin.
The effect was immediate and brutal. The adversary's chin seemed to shatter upon impact, an audible crack echoing through the chaotic air. The thug's body contorted in a painful dance of agony as he crumpled to the ground, his groans mixing with the sounds of shouts.
And then, amidst the chaos and violence, Larry's voice thundered, cutting through the pandemonium. His impatience was palpable, a raw and unbridled force. It was as if a tempest of rage burned within him, a fire that refused to be extinguished.
With a fierce expression etched across his face, Larry's wrathful challenge reverberated in the air. His foot swung forward, a powerful kick aimed at the writhing thug's head. The impact landed with a sickening thud, a stark punctuation to his verbal onslaught.
"IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT, YOU FUCKERS?!?!?!?!" The words exploded from Larry's lips, a detonation of defiance that echoed off the surrounding chaos.
Consumed by rage however, Larry remained oblivious to the approaching thug, who clutched a baseball bat tightly in his hands. The thug swung the wooden weapon aggressively, but just before impact, an obstruction halted its trajectory.
"Veni et iuva me!" Dick's incantation echoed through the air as he emerged from the confines of Tombstone's private garage. Swiftly, a vivid blue construct resembling a hand materialized, intercepting the bat mid-swing. The spectral hand clenched its grip and wrenched the weapon away from the thug, flinging it back toward its owner.
Disoriented from the bat's blow to his head, the thug staggered backward. Meanwhile, Larry, finally realizing the danger from behind, pivoted and lunged at his assailant. Their struggle brought them crashing to the ground, where Larry's fists rained down on the thug's face until unconsciousness prevailed.
The sudden appearance of the spectral hand had stunned the other thugs, but their shock was swiftly overshadowed by their collective resolve. They focused on the apparent nearest among them: Larry. A chaotic assembly of figures encircled Larry, wielding an array of makeshift weapons, their intent clear—to subdue his rampage.
Observing this perilous situation, Dick rushed to Larry's aid once more, weaving a spell with practiced hands and issuing another incantation.
"Detono!"
A surge of purple energy surged forth from Dick, propelling through the air to forcibly disperse the throng surrounding Larry, save for Larry himself. The thugs were flung aside, their weapons scattering—baseball bats, knuckle dusters, even a few knives.
Among those knives, however, a sense of alarm resonated. The attention of the remaining group shifted back to Larry, revealing his prone form on the ground, his body marked by the stain of his own blood. Yet, despite the dire state he was in, the flames of his rage still burned fiercely within him.
"Shit! Larry!" Raul's drumsticks danced around him, conjuring a verdant mist that enveloped the room. The melodic strain of [Song of Rest] resonated, its soothing aura extending towards Larry from a distance. Gradually, the wounds that marred his form began to mend, his vitality restored, albeit not entirely made whole.
As Manny strode into the scene, his swift steps carried him towards one of the bats scattered haphazardly on the ground. Without hesitation, he snatched it up, his fingers wrapping around its worn handle. A surge of magic coursed through him as he cast [Armor of Agathys] upon himself, a shimmering armor of magical protection enveloping his form.
Yet, before Manny could launch his retaliatory strike towards the fallen group, a sudden motion from Dick captured his attention. Dick's hand rose gracefully, fingers tracing an arcane pattern as his lips formed the shape of whispered words. "Voco arvina," he intoned, and in an instant, a deluge of slippery grease cascaded down upon the group still reeling from the earlier shockwave. The effect was immediate, causing the unprepared members of the group to lose their footing on the slick surface.
Caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events, Manny felt a brief surge of panic. His mind raced to comprehend the situation unfolding before him. "What are you doing?!" he exclaimed, his voice betraying a mixture of concern and bewilderment.
"What?! Attack them!" Dick's response shattered the tense silence, his command reverberating through the chaotic air. Despite his authoritative words, it was clear that Dick's spells had been depleted.
A rush of relief swept over Manny as he discerned Dick's true intent. It became apparent that the intention wasn't to engulf them in flames, but rather to unbalance and immobilize. With a renewed vigor, Manny shifted his focus to the men who now struggled to maintain their equilibrium on the greased ground. Their attempts to stand were fraught with futility, each effort met with comical slips and slides.
Drawing upon his own wellspring of arcane abilities, Manny's hand mirrored Dick's prior motion, albeit with a distinct purpose. A resolve fueled his actions as he conjured [Eldritch Blast] multiple times. The ethereal force surged forth from his outstretched hand, striking the incapacitated men one by one. The impact was undeniable, a concussive force that sent them sprawling, their consciousness fading in the face of the magical onslaught.
It was an all-out brawl that culminated in the bewildering use of magic, leaving the victims utterly perplexed. Now, only a couple of men remained, and their actions appeared deliberate as they hurried towards a specific drawer tucked away in the room's corner. With precision, they opened the drawer and retrieved a firearm, a pistol that they swiftly loaded with bullets. In the blink of an eye, the barrels of those pistols were pointed squarely at the group of boys.
Yet, almost as if guided by instinct, Raul once again commenced a rhythm with his drumsticks, simultaneously murmuring an inaudible incantation. [Dissonant Whispers] was cast, and a crimson mist rapidly engulfed the men who were about to unleash a barrage of gunfire upon the group. As the mist infiltrated their ears, they froze in their tracks, gripped by an overwhelming sense of fear.
Larry, though still bearing the visible mark of his injury, rose to his feet with a sly grin, his gaze fixed on the last remaining thug in the room.