Session #2
Ezra’s sword was stuck. But he couldn’t tell in what; the ground he just put a small crevice in thrusting his sword into, or the skull of the man he just shoved his blade in to.
Meh. Doesn’t matter.
Ezra pulled a little harder, but the damn thing still wouldn’t move.
“C’mon, buddy,” he said to the lifeless skull. “I would really like to get this back. I kinda need it.”
He put both of his hands on the handle, and pulled up, grunting really loudly. His face probably looked pretty funny, too. He was careful, though, to not release and turn the handle, because the thrust from the engine inside the sword would probable force it further into the ground.
Ezra was getting frustrated now.
“Come on, guy, let go!” he yelled, pulling out his pistol. “I said, LET GO!!!”
Ezra opened fire on the ground around the sword, pulling the trigger so fast it was like a machine gun was firing at full speed. As he was blowing away the ground, bits of it and the body were flying all over the place. He was yelling the whole time, probably in an attempt to feel badass while shooting the ground. Eventually, it came lose, and he pulled it free with chunks of the ground still attached to it.
“Huh. It was stuck in the ground.” He looked at the remains of the remains of the dead soldier. “Sorry, guy.”
He holstered his pistol and checked his sword, Faraday. It was a marvel of combat and machinery. It was weighted perfectly for Ezra, as strong as graphene, and sharpened to perfection. None of these things made it stand out all that much. At least, not like the small engine it had inside it. Faraday had it built-in mini motorcycle engine, which, when the handle was released and turned, gave the sword extra thrusting power, making almost impossible to block. Ezra rarely needed it, but it still comes in handy.
After Ezra’s inspection was done and he was satisfied, he put the sword on his back, and stood up. He examined the distant city of Milele, marveled by how its beauty was preserved despite Ezra being gone for a few decades. The sun was just rising, and a new day was slowly making its way into the eyes of the Milelen citizens.
Ezra turned and looked at what his latest handiwork has brought. All over the ground lay dead soldiers, men who were working for Napoleon. And all at once, Ezra was reminded of why he was coming back into the city. He had to find Napoleon, and find her, fast. But first, he wanted her to know he was back. He owed her that much. He began to search the bodies around him, hoping to find a…there one was. A radio.
He turned it on and was surprised to find it still working. He had thrown this man to the ground pretty hard.
Ezra cleared his throat, and pressed the call button.
“…help…help me,” Ezra groaned. “I…need…help…”
“Breathe, soldier!” A familiar voice replied. “Stay calm! What’s going on?”
“We…we were attacked. He took us all…last one left…” he was really milking it.
“Who? Who did it? Who was it!”
Bring it on home.
“…Ezra…his name…is…Ezra.”
And for the grande finale, he dropped the radio and smashed it with his foot.
Welcome home, Ezra, he thought.
Welcome home.
