Chapter 2: Completely GrossMature

(Originally posted by Rodge the Linkbot on Mon Aug 03, 2009)

-Last Night-

Slate and the Old Man walked towards the old wrecked house. “Don’t even get me started on how horrible of an idea that is.”

“Why?” Slate coughed.

“Simple, you could carry a sword of cardboard that big, metal? Not even half that size. I’ll give you a short blade at best.”

Slate mumbled something before looked at the building, “Oh crap!”


“Those footprints.” He leered at them, “The size, shape, form of shoe-wear.” Slate’s head knew what it was, but his heart didn’t want to believe it, “There are two pairs of foot prints here, I don’t know for sure who’s that one is, but the other- Xeranad.”

“You sure?”

“Think about who you’re talking too.” He looked back up to the building, “The door, when we left we closed it.”

“So, my son might have left-”

“Your son never left a door open a day in his life!” He swallowed.

The Old Man ran up to door, “Oh god.”

Slate follow, hobbling, his legs screaming in pain. First he saw the fleshy clump, then he saw her. Mable.

Slate collapsed looking at her body.

The Old Man collapsed, recognizing his son the way only a father can. Slate held up her body for a moment, then put her down. He laughed.

The Old Man turned and looked at him, “WHAT-WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!”

“Because, she’s, it’s not her.”

He looked, “Of course it’s her, look!”

Slate’s hand moved along the side of her face, “The jaw is off a little, not much, but, some. It’s not from an injury, so it had to have been born that way.”


He just looked at her, then back at The Old Man. “Yes.” Slate lied, “It is.”

He couldn’t tell him that she was dead. Let the Old Man have his hope, that’s why Slate was out there trying to become Click. Let him have his hope.


-That morning, four A.M-

Warm water sprayed down on Slate’s face, he jumped up and sat up in his bed, “What the hell Old Man!!”

“Wake up. It’s time to start your training.”

He looked outside, “It’s still dark out!!”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to sleep.” He smiled, trying to avoid any thought about his son’s passing, “I’ve finished your weapons and armor, but they need to cool. First, training.”

He yawned, then stopped moving.

“GET UP!!”

Slate got up, grumbling. Suddenly his eyes opened wide and turned to the side, avoiding a fist coming at him, then to the right avoiding another, and back again. “What are you doing??”

“Testing out a theory.”

Slate watched the Old Man’s eyes point down and shift, without a moment’s thought Slate jumped in the air dodging the kick and landing on the bed. He then punched forward, Slate bounced to the side. The Old Man reached back, grabbing a hidden blade and started to slash at him, stabbing forward then moving the blade to the side at incredible speed. Slate quickly avoid each blade and dodged each one, then jumped back behind him, then crouched dodging the shimmering blade.

“Would you stop??”

“NO!!” He slashed again and again, Slate, almost magically avoiding each attack, “Stop me!!”



Slate watched each movement, and then it suddenly dawned on him. The Old Man thrust forward, and Slate stepped in and to the side, grabbing the Old Man by his hands and the swords blade. From behind, Slate slid his foot in between the Old Man’s legs, and turned.

He fell to the ground, the sword falling to the side, Slate instantly picked it up.

“Good morning.” The Old Man smiled.


“See?” He smiled, “You already had some of the skills a fighter would need. First of all, you can read people perfectly, not only do you know their strategy but their next move the moment they do, without fail. Second, you understand physics, so you know how to knock someone off balance.”

“No, you just fight like a girl.”

“And you beat an old man.” He got up, “Look, you can fight, you might not be able to hold up against more then one opponent, or kill a powerful enemy, but you should at least be able to take care of yourself.”


“Yes, I’m serious.”

“huh. So, your like the Wizard of Oz?”


“Never mind.”

“Look, you can fight, but try to avoid it. You are a thinker, at most a tactician. Work to your strengths.”

Slate nodded.

“That wasn’t water, was it?”

“Well, you could sleep through a flood, so water was out, I had to go to the bathroom anyway, soo-”

“I’m takin’ a shower.” Slate walked off.

The End

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